
































COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 

































































































^• 10 3l APPLETONS’ [5 °^' 

Town and Country Library 

BUSHED SEMI-MONTHLY September 15, 1892 $ 10.00 PER ANNUM 

* M ■J„0 ■■.■_■-■ ■-■■■■■■■■..■-■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■■■ mmumuummmamm 


THE BERKELEYS 
\ND THEIR NEIGHBORS 

■ i . . 

By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL 

of Throckmorton, Maid Marian, Little Jarvis, Midshipman Paulding, E 


9 





ENTERED AT THE P08T-0FFICE AT NEW YORK AS SECOND-CL A8S M^IL MATTER 


D. APPLETON & CO., NEW YORK 








“ Admittance to Appletons’ Town and Country Library is a sufficient recommendation 
for any novel, for we know of no series that has been kept so free from trash or sensa- 
tionalism.”— Albany Argus. 

“The publishers of the Town and Country Library have been either particularly saga- 
cious or very fortunate in the selection of the novels that have thus far appeared in tins 
excellent series. Not one is lacking in positive merit, and the majority are much above 
the average fiction of the day. Any person who likes a good story well told can buy any 
issue in the Town and Country Library with the utmoM confidence of finding something 
well worth while.” — Boston Beacon. 

“The red-brown covers of Appletons’ Town and Country Library have come to be an 
almost infallible sign of a story worth reading. In the series a poor book has not yet been 
published.”— Toledo Bee. 

“ Each is by a story-writer of experience, and affords a few hours of agreeable enter- 
tainment.” — Cincinnati Times- Star. 


LATEST ISSUES. 

97. Jean de Kerdren. By Jeanne Schultz, author of ‘‘The Story of 

Colette,” “ Straight On,” etc. 

98. Etelka’s Vow. By Dorothea Gerard, author of “ A Queen of Curds 

and Cream,” “ On the Way Through,” “ Orthodox,” etc., joint author 
of “ A Sensitive Plant.” 

99. Cross Currents. By Mary Angela Dickens. 

100. His Life’s Magnet. By Theodora Elmslie, author of “The Little 

Lady of Lavender,” “ A Queen of Roses,” etc. 

101. Passing the Love of Women. By Mrs J. H. Tseedell, author of 

“Stephen Ellicott’s Daughter,” “ The Story of Philip Methuen,” etc. 

102. In Old St. Stephen’s. By Jeanie Drake. 


Each, 12mo, paper cover, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents and $1.00. j 

For sale by all booksellers, or null be sent by mail on receipt of price by the publishers , 

D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street, New York. < 















BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


THROCKMORTON. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; 
cloth, $1.00. 

“ The incidents are of great interest, well-imagined, and admirably- 
carried out. But the notable feature of the book is the rare charm of 
its literary expression. The language is full of grace and wit and 
delicate sensibility. To read is to be beguiled.” — New York Sun. 

“ The pages of ‘ Throckmorton ’ are alive with picturesque 
sketches. Its humor is never forced, and its pathos is never over- 
done. It is a novel to linger over.” — The Critic. 

“A charming story. The author has used good English, and the 
reader yields to the fascination of her style.” — The Book Buyer. 

MAID MARIAN, and other Stories. J2mo. 

Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

“ There is an unmistakable cleverness in this collection of short 
stories. ” — Boston Literary World. 

‘‘Miss Seawell has a brisk and prolific fancy, and a turn for the 
odd and fantastic, while she is Past Master in the use of negro dialect 
and the production of tales of plantation life and manners. All these 
stories are spirited, well marked by local color, and written with skill 
and ingenuity.”— New York Tribune. 

MIDSHIPMAN PAULDING. A true story of 
the War of 1812. With Six full-page Illustrations. 
8vo. Bound in blue cloth, with special design in 
gold and colors. $1.00. 

“ The story is told in a breezy, pleasant style that can not fail to 
capture the fancy of young readers, and imparts much historical 
knowledge at the same time, while the illustrations will help the 
understanding of the events described. It is an excellent book fox- 
boys, and even the girls will be interested in it.”— Brooklyn 
Standard- Union. 

LITTLE JARVIS. The story of the heroic mid- 
shipman of the frigate “ Constellation.” With Six 
full-page Illustrations. 8vo. Bound uniformly with 
“Midshipman Paulding.” $1.00. 

“Not since Dr. Edward Everett Hale’s classic, ‘ The Man without 
a Country,’ has there been published a more stirring lesson in 
patriotism.”— Boston Beacon. 

“It is what a boy would call ‘a real boy’s book.’ '"'—Charleston 
News and Courier. 


D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York. 


THE BERKELEYS 
AND THEIR NEIGHBORS 


BY 

MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL 

'i 

AUTHOR OF THROCKMORTON, MAID MARIAN, LITTLE JARVIS, 
MIDSHIPMAN PAULDING, ETC. 






v p y R i r j-'\ 

,jCT 3 1892 j 




3 '% 0 1 0 


NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1892 



>V. 


Copyright, 1888, 

By M. ELLIOT SEA WELL. 


Copyright, 1892, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


< 1 

t c 

« * l 


Printed at the 
Appleton Press, U. S. A, 


THE BERKELEYS AND THEIR 
NEIGHBORS. 


CHAPTER I. 

A PROVINCIAL Virginia race-course is an excel- 
lent place to observe a people which has preserved 
its distinctiveness as well as the Virginians. So 
far, they have escaped that general and fatiguing 
likeness which prevails in most of the universe these 
days. 

Therefore, the Campdown race-course, on a 
golden day in October, looked like itself and noth- 
ing else. The track had started out with the in- 
tention of making a perfect ellipse, but meeting a 
steep incline, it saved the trouble of bringing up 
the grade, by boldly avoiding the obstacle — so the 
winning post was considerably nearer the half-mile 
than the starting post was. Nobody objected to 
a little thing like this, though. The Virginians are 
good-natured creatures, and seldom bother about 
trifles. 

It was the fall meeting of the Campdown Jockey 
Club— a famous institution “ befo’ the war.” 

At this time the great awakening had not come 


2 


THE BERKELEYS 


— the war was not long over. For these people, had 
they but known it, the end of the war really meant 
the end of the world — but the change was too stu- 
pendous for any human mind to grasp all at once. 
There came a period of shock before the pain was 
felt, when the people, groping amid the ruins of 
their social fabric, patched it up a little here and a 
little there. They resumed in a dazed and incom- 
plete way their old amusements, their old habits 
and ways of life. They mortgaged their lands — all 
that was left to them — with great coolness and a 
superstitious faith in the future — Virginians are 
prone to hanker after mortgages — and spent the 
money untroubled by any reflections where any 
more was to come from when that was gone. 

They were intense pleasure lovers. In that 
happy afternoon haze in which they had lived until 
the storm broke, pleasure was the chief end of man. 
So now, the whole county turned out to see two or 
three broken-down hacks, and a green colt or two, 
race for the mythical stakes. It is true, a green 
silk bag, embroidered in gold, with the legend 
“ $300 ” hung aloft on a tall pole, for the sweep- 
stakes, but it did not contain three hundred dollars, 
but about qne-half of it in gold, and a check drawn 
by the president of the Jockey Club against the 
treasurer for the balance. Most of the members 
had not paid their dues, and the treasurer didn’t 
know where the money was to come from, nor the 
president either, for that matter; but it takes a 
good deal to discount a Virginian’s faith in the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


3 


future. The public, too, was fully acquainted with 
the state of affairs, and the fact that there was any 
gold at all in the bag, would eventually be in the 
nature of a pleasant surprise. 

The people, in carriages, or on horseback, bore 
little resemblance to the usual country gathering. 
They were gentlepeople tinged with rusticity. All 
of them had good, high sounding Anglo-Saxon 
names. There was some magnificence of an an- 
tique pattern. One huge family ark was drawn 
by four sleek old horses, with a venerable black 
coachman on the box, and inside a superb old lady 
with a black veil falling over her white hair. There 
were but two really correct equipages in the field. 
One was, a trim, chocolate-colored victoria, with 
brown horses and a chocolate-colored coachman to 
match. In it sat a showy woman, with a profusion 
of dazzling blonde hair, and beside her was an im- 
maculately well dressed blonde man. The turnout 
looked like a finely finished photograph among a 
lot of dingy old family portraits. 

The other carriage that would have passed mus- 
ter, was a large and handsome landau, respectfully 
called “the Isleham carriage,” and in it sat Colonel 
Berkeley and his daughter Olivia. The Colonel 
was a genuine Virginia colonel, and claimed to be 
the last man in the State to wear a ruffled shirt 
bosom. A billowy expanse of thread cambric ruffles 
rushed out of his waistcoat ; his snow white hair was 
carefully combed down upon his coat collar. At 
the carriage door stood his double — an elderly ne- 


4 


THE BERKELEYS 


gro as grizzled as his master, to whom he bore that 
curious resemblance that comes of fifty years asso- 
ciation. This resemblance was very much increased 
when Colonel Berkeley’s back was turned, and in the 
privacy of the kitchen, Petrarch — or more commonly 
Pete — pished and pshawed and railed and swore in 
the colonel’s most inimitable manner. Each, too, 
possessed a type of aggressive piety, which in 
Colonel Berkeley took the form of a loud declara- 
tion that a gentleman, in order to be a gentleman, 
must be a member of the Episcopal Church. This 
once accomplished, the Colonel was willing to al- 
low liberally for the weaknesses of human nature, 
and considered too great strictness of behavior as 
“deuced ungentlemanlike, begad.” Petrarch re- 
garded himself as a second Isaiah the prophet, and 
a vessel of election — having reached the stage of 
perfectibility — a usual thing in the experience of a 
genuine African. The Colonel described Petrarch 
as “ that infernal rascally boy of mine,” and this 
“boy” was the one individual he had never been 
able to overawe or silence. Possibly an exception 
might be made to this in Miss Olivia, who sitting up, 
slim and straight and pretty, was treated by her fa- 
ther with elaborate old-fashioned courtesy. Colonel 
Berkeley was in a particularly happy and virtuous 
frame of mind on this day. This was his first ap- 
pearance in public since his return from Europe, 
where a serious bodily injury had kept him during 
the whole four years of the war. He gloried in 
the consciousness that he was no renegade, but had 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


5 


returned to the sacred soil as soon as he possibly 
could, when he might have been enjoying himself 
elsewhere. When the Colonel said “ the State of 
Virginia,” he really meant the whole planetary sys- 
tem. Nevertheless, two weeks in his beloved Vir- 
ginia had bored him dreadfully, and he was '“more 
orkarder,” as Petrarch expressed it, than any other 
two weeks of his whole life. The Campdown races 
he hailed as a godsend. He had a good compe- 
tence left, in spite of having sent orders to his 
agents to convert lands, stocks, bonds, and every- 
thing, into Confederate securities — cotton bonds, 
Confederate gunboat stock, anything in which the 
State of Virginia was bound up. As far as in him 
lay, he had made ducks and drakes of a splendid 
fortune, from the finest and most disinterested mo- 
tives that ever inspired a mistaken old gentleman, 
but fate had befriended him against his will. An 
investment at the North that the colonel had vainly 
tried to throw in the general wreck, had escaped 
confiscation, and had increased, a hundredfold in 
value. His orders to sell half of Isleham, his fam- 
ily place, for Confederate money, had arrived too 
late for his agent to carry it out. He had done the 
handsome thing, as it was esteemed, and after hav- 
ing practiced the strictest virtue, he was rewarded 
with all the pleasures that are commonly supposed 
to be the reward of vice. 

“ Don’t you think, papa,” the young girl said to 
him at once, “ that we should go up on the grand 
stand ? It might look a little — a little stand- 


6 


THE BERKELEYS 


offish for us to remain here — and the county 
people — ” 

The Virginians inherit from their English ances- 
try, avast and preposterous respect for their county 
people — and Miss Olivia Berkeley, fresh from Paris 
and London, was more anxious that no fault should 
be found with her by these out-of-the-way pro- 
vincials than any of the fine people she had met 
during a considerable transatlantic experience. So 
was Colonel Berkeley — but there was a fly in his 
ointment. 

“ I would with pleasure, my love, but damme if 
those Hibbses are not sitting up on the stand 
along with their betters — and I won’t rub elbows 
with the Hibbses. It’s everywhere the same. 
Society is so infernally mixed now that I am always 
expecting to meet my tailor at dinner. I thought 
certainly, in old Virginia, the people would know 
how to keep the canaille in their places, and there, 
by George, sits a family like the Hibbses staring 
me in the face.” 

“ Yes,” replied Olivia, smiling. “ It’s everywhere 
the same — you are bound to meet some of the 
Hibbses everywhere in the world — so we might as 
well do the right thing in spite of them. Petrarch, 
open the carriage door.” 

The Colonel, with old-fashioned gallantry, assisted 
his daughter to alight, and giving her his arm, they 
crossed the track in full view of the grand stand, 
and went up the rickety wooden stairs at the end. 

At no period in her life had Olivia Berkeley felt 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


7 


herself so thoroughly on exhibition as then. Her 
figure, her air — both of which were singularly grace- 
ful and refined — her gown which was Paris-made — 
all were minutely examined by hundreds of eyes 
that had not seen her since, as a pretty, half-grown 
girl, she went to church and paid visits under the 
charge of a demure governess. After they had 
crossed the white track, they were greeted by 
numerous gentlemen who sauntered back and forth 
about the quarter-stretch. Colonel Berkeley was 
elaborately gracious, and Olivia was by nature 
affable — to all except the Hibbses. But when 
they passed that inoffending family, the Colonel 
stalked on pointedly oblivious, and Olivia’s slight 
bow was not warming or cheering. 

People moved up to shake hands with them — 
girls of Olivia’s age, soft voiced, matronly women, 
elderly men, a little shaky and broken, as all the old 
men looked after the war — and young men with 
something of the camp hanging to them still. 
Olivia was all grace, kindness, and tact. She had 
forgotten nobody. 

Meanwhile Petrarch, who had followed them, 
managed to edge up to her and whisper : 

“Miss ‘Livy, ain’t dat ar Marse French Pem- 
broke an’ he b’rer Miles ? Look a-yander by de 
aige o’ de bench.” 

Olivia glanced that way, and a slight wave of 
color swept over her face — and at that moment 
“ Marse French’s b’rer Miles ” turned his full face 
toward her. 


8 


THE BERKELEYS 


He was a mere lad, of eighteen at the utmost. 
One side of his face, as she had first seen his profile, 
was of the purest Greek beauty. But on the other 
side, a shot had done dreadful work. One eye was 
drawn out of place. A horrid gash in the cheek 
remained, and one side of the mouth was pain- 
fully disfigured. On the same side, an arm was 
missing. 

A torrent of pity almost overwhelmed Olivia as 
she looked at the boy — her little playmate in years 
gone by. And then the elder brother caught her 
eye, and bowed and smiled. He did not possess 
the beauty that had once belonged to Miles. He 
was dark and tanned, and his features had a manly 
irregularity. But he stood up straight and tall, and 
had the figure of a soldier. In a moment or two 
Olivia was shaking hands with Miles, looking straight 
and boldly into his face, as if there was nothing 
remarkable there. But just as she touched French 
Pembroke’s hand, the blonde woman in the victoria 
came within her line of vision. 

Olivia threw up her head, and greeted Pembroke 
with a kind of chilling sweetness. But this all dis- 
solved toward Miles. 

“ How delightful to see you again,” she said. “ I 
suppose I shall have to say Mr. Miles now, although 
I never can think of you as anything but a dear lit- 
tle tormenting boy.” 

The ghost of a smile — his smile was a mere con- 
tortion — came into Miles’ face — and while he talked, 
he thrust his one hand into his trousers pocket 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


9 


with a gesture of boyish shyness. Olivia thought 
she heard the tell-tale rattle of marbles in the 
pocket. 

“ I’ve — I’ve been a soldier since I saw you,” he 
said, with a boy’s mixture of pride and diffidence. 

“ So I hear,” answered Olivia, with a pretty air of 
severity, “ ran away from school, I believe.” 

“ Yes,” said Miles, his diffidence disappearing 
before his pride. “ I was big enough to carry a 
musket. Though I wasn’t but sixteen, I was taller 
than the captain of my company. Soldiering was 
fun until— until — .” He began to blush furiously, 
but kept on after a moment. “ I didn’t mind sleep- 
ing in the mud, or anything. A man oughtn’t to 
mind that sort of thing, Olivia — if you’ll let me call 
you Olivia.” 

“ Of course I will,” replied Olivia gayly. “ Do 
you think I want to appear any older than I am ? ” 
Then she turned to Pembroke and said, “ I was 
sorry not to have seen you the day you came to 
Isleham. We met last in Paris.” 

“ I hope to see as much of Isleham as we did in 
the old days,” answered Pembroke. His voice was 
rather remarkable, it was so clear and well modu- 
lated. 

“ I hope,” began Miles, stammering a little, “ that 
— that you and the Colonel understood my not — 
why I didn’t come to see you in Paris.” 

“ Not fully,” answered Olivia, pleasantly. “ You 
must come over to Isleham and explain it — if you 
can. Have you seen papa yet ? ” 


IO 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ I see him now,” said Pembroke with a smile, 
“ shaking hands with Mrs. Peyton.” 

Olivia smiled too. There had been a flirtation 
between Mrs. Peyton and Colonel Berkeley forty 
odd years before, and as everything that happened 
in the community was perfectly well known by 
everybody else, the episode had crystallized into a 
tradition. Colonel Berkeley had been known to 
swear that Sally Peyton in her youth was a jilt. 
Mrs. Peyton always said that Tom Berkeley was not 
to be depended on. The Colonel was saying to 
Mrs. Peyton in his grandest tones : 

“ Madam, Time has passed you by.” 

“ Ah, my dear Colonel,” responded Mrs. Peyton 
with a quizzical look at Colonel Berkeley’s elabo- 
rate toilet and flamboyant shirt ruffles, “ we can’t 
cross the dead line of sixty without showing it. 
Even art cannot conceal it.” 

“Just like Sally Peyton’s sharp tongue,” the 
colonel growled sotto voce — while a suppressed 
guffaw from Pete on the verge of the group, showed 
the remark was not lost on that factotum. 

“And Petrarch too,” cried Mrs. Peyton in her 
fine, jovial old voice, holding out her hand. 

Pete shuffled up and took her hand in his black 
paw. 

“ Howdy, Miss Sally. Lordy, marster done tole 
de truf — you looks jes ez young an’ chipper — How’s 
Mandy?” 

“ Mandy has lost her senses since old Abe 
Lincoln made you all free. She’s left me and 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


II 


gone to Richmond to go to school — the old 
idiot.” 

“ Hi ! I allers did like Mandy, but I ain’t got no 
use fer dem niggers dat kin read ’n write. Readin’ 
an’ writin’ is fer white folks.” 

“ Shut up, you black rascal,” roared the Colonel, 
nevertheless highly delighted. “ Madam, may I 
present my daughter — Olivia, my child.” 

Olivia came up, and Mrs. Peyton kissed her 
affectionately, but not before a rapid glance which 
took in all there was of her. 

“ Like her sainted mother,” began the Colonel, 
dramatically. 

“ Not a bit,” briskly answered Mrs. Peyton. “ A 
Berkeley all over, if ever I saw one. Child, I hope 
you are as nice as you are pretty.” 

“ Nobody ever told me I wasn’t nice,” responded 
Olivia with a smile. 

“ And not spoiled by your foreign travels ? ” 

“ Not in the least.” 

Clang ! Clang ! Clang ! goes the saddling bell. 

“What do you think?” says Olivia laughing. 
“ Papa has entered Dashaway. You know he is 
twelve years old, and as Petrarch says, he hasn’t 
any wind left — but papa wouldn’t listen to any- 
body.” 

“ Yes, that’s Tom Berkeley all over. Ah, my 
dear, I could tell you something that happened 
forty-two years ago, in which I promise you, I got 
the better of your father.” 

The horses by this time are coming out. They 


12 


THE BERKELEYS 


are an ordinary looking lot except one spanking 
roan, the property of the despised Hibbses, and 
Dashaway, a gray thoroughbred, a good deal like 
Colonel Berkeley himself, but like him, with certain 
physical defects. The gray has a terrific wheeze, 
and the hair on his fetlocks is perfectly white. But 
he holds his head up gallantly, and gives a tre- 
mendous snort which nearly shakes the mite of a 
darkey off his back. All the jockeys are negro 
boys. There is no pool-selling, but the gentlemen 
make bets among themselves and with the ladies. 
The transactions if small, are exciting. 

Colonel Berkeley’s presence hardly prevents a 
laugh as the gray ambles past the grand stand, snort- 
ing and blowing like a porpoise. The Colonel, how- 
ever, has unshaken confidence in Dashaway. Is he 
not of the best blood of Sir Henry, and didn’t he win 
fourteen hundred dollars for the Colonel on the Camp- 
down course the year before the war? Colonel 
Berkeley knows a horse well enough — but to know 
horses and to know one’s own horse are two things. 

Colonel Berkeley, leaning over the fence, is giving 
his directions, in a loud voice, to the little darkey, 
who is nearly ashy with fright. He knows what is 
expected of him, and he knows Dashaway’s defi- 
ciencies. 

“ Now, sir, you are to make the running from the 
half-mile post. Keep well up with the horse in the 
lead, but don’t attempt to pass him until you have 
turned the half-mile.” 

“ Yes, sah,” answers the small jockey, trembling. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


13 

“ But Dashaway, he c’yarn run much, sah, ’thout 
blowin’, an’ — an’ — ” 

“ Zounds, sirrah, do you mean to instruct me 
about my own horse? Now listen you young imp. 
Use the whip moderately, Dashaway comes of 
stock that won’t stand whip and spur. If he runs 
away, just give him his head, and if you don’t 
remember every word I tell you, by the Lord 
Harry, I’ll make you dance by the time you are 
out of the saddle ! ” 

“ Good Gord A’mighty, marster,” puts in Pe- 
trarch. “ Dashaway, he ain’ never gwi’ run away. 
He too ole, an’ he ain’t strong ’nuff — ” 

“ Good Gad, sir, was ever a man so tormented 
by such a set of black rascals ? Hold your tongue 
— don’t let me hear another word from you, not 
another word, sir.” 

The jockey, who takes the Colonel’s words at 
their full value, which Petrarch discounts liberally, 
begins to stutter with fright. 

“ M — m — marster, ef I jes’ kin git Dashaway 
’long wid de res’ — ” 

“ Silence, sir,” shouts the Colonel, “ and remem- 
ber every word I tell you, or ” Colonel Berke- 

ley’s appalling countenance and uplifted cane com- 
plete the rest. 

Dashaway is not only conspicuously the worst of 
the lot, but the most troublesome. Half a dozen 
good starts might be made but for Dashaway. At 
last the flag drops. “ Go ! ” yells the starter, and 
the horses are off. Dashaway takes his place 


H 


THE BERKELEYS 


promptly in the rear, and daylight steadily widens 
between him and the last horse. As the field 
comes thundering down the homestretch the spank- 
ing roan well in the lead, Dashaway is at least a 
quarter of a mile behind, blowing like a whale, and 
the jockey is whipping furiously, his arm flying 
around like a windmill. The Colonel is fairly danc- 
ing with rage. 

Colonel Berkeley is not the man to lose a race 
to the Hibbses with composure, and Petrarch’s 
condolences, reminiscences, prophecies and deduc- 
tions were not of a consolatory character. 

“ Ole Marse, I done tole you, Dashaway warn’t 
fitten ter run, at de very startment. He been a 
mighty good horse, but he c’yarn snuffle de battle 
fum befo’, an’ say Hay ! hay ! like de horse in de 
Bible no mo’.” 

“ Shut up, sir — shut up. Religion and horse rac- 
ing don’t mix,” roars the Colonel. 

“ Naw suh, dey doan ! When de horse racin’ 
folks is burnin’ in de lake full er brimstone an’ sul- 
phur, de ’ligious folks will be rastlin’ wid de golden 
harps — ” Petrarch’s sermon is cut ruthlessly short 
by Colonel Berkerley suddenly catching sight of 
the unfortunate jockey in a vain attempt to get 
out of the way. But his day of reckoning had 
come. Petrarch had collared him, and the Colonel 
proceeded to give him what he called a dressing- 
down, liberally punctuated with flourishes of a bam- 
boo cane. 

“ Didn’t I tell you,” he was shouting to the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 1 5 

unhappy youngster, “to make the running — to 
make the running , hay ? " 

“ M — m — marster, I ’clar to Gord, I thot’ Dash- 
away wuz gw’in’ to drap ’fo I git him to de half- 
mile pos’ — " 

“ Drap — you scoundrel, drap / The blood of 
Sir Henry drap / You confounded rascal, you 
pulled that horse," etc., etc., etc. 

Mrs. Peyton laughed. “ It does my heart good 
to hear Tom Berkeley raging like that. It reminds 
me that we are not all dead or changed, as it seems 
to me sometimes. Your father and I have had pas- 
sages-at-arms in my time, I can tell you, Olivia." 

Clang ! presently again. It is the saddling bell 
once more. But there is no Dashaway in this race. 
Nevertheless it is very exciting. There are half a 
dozen horses, and after the start is made it looks to 
be anybody’s race. Even as they come pounding 
down the straight sweep of the last two furlongs, it 
would be hard to pick out the probable winner. 
The people on the grand stand have gone wild — 
they are shouting names, the men waving their 
hats, the women standing up on benches to see 
as two or three horses gradually draw away from 
the others, and a desperate struggle is promised 
within the last thirty lengths. And just at this 
moment, when everybody’s attention is fixed on 
the incoming horses, French Pembroke has slipped 
across the track and is speaking to the blonde 
woman in the victoria. His face does not look 
pleasant. He has chosen this moment, when all 


1 6 THE BERKELEYS 

attention is fixed on something else to speak to her, 
so that it will not be observed — and although he 
adopts the subterfuge, he despises it. Nor does the 
blonde woman fail to see through it. She does not 
relish being spoken to on the sly as it were. 
Nothing, however, disturbs the cheerful urbanity 
of the gentleman by her side. He gets out of the 
carriage and grasps Pembroke by the hand. He 
calls him “ mon cher ” a vulgar mode of address 
which Pembroke resents with a curt “ Good-morn- 
ing, Mr. Ahlberg,” and then he lifts his hat to the 
lady whom he calls Madame Roller. “ Why did 
you not come before ? ” she asks, “ you might have 
known it would be dull enough.” 

“ Don’t you know everybody here ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Madame Roller, sighing pro- 
foundly. “ I remember all of them — and most of 
the men have called. Some of them are so strange. 
They stay all day when they come. And such 
queer carriages.” 

“ And the costumes. The costumes ! ” adds Mr. 
Ahlberg on the ground. 

Pembroke felt a sense of helpless indignation. 
He answered Mr. Ahlberg by turning his back, and 
completely ignoring that excessively stylish person. 

“You must remember the four years’ harrowing 
they have been through,” he says to Madame 
Roller. “ But they are so thoroughly established 
in their own esteem,” he adds with a little malice, 
“ that they are indifferent even to the disapproval 
of Madame Roller. I am glad to see you looking 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


17 


so well. I must, however, leave you now, as I am 
one of the managers, and must look after the weigh- 
in g.” 

“ Now you are going away because I have been 
disagreeable,” remarked Madame Roller reproach- 
fully. “ And poor Ahlberg — ” 

“ Must take care of you, and do his best to amuse 
you,” answered Pembroke with a laugh and a look 
that classed Ahlberg with Madame’s poodle or her 
parrot. “ Good-bye,” and in a minute he was 
gone. Madame Roller looked sulky. Mr. Ahl- 
berg’s good humor and composure were perfectly 
unruffled. 

Hardly any one noticed Pembroke’s little expedi- 
tion except Mrs. Peyton and Olivia Berkeley. Mrs. 
Peyton mounted a pair of large gold spectacles, and 
then remarked to Olivia : 

“ My dear, there’s French Pembroke talking to 
my niece, Eliza Peyton — ” Mrs. Peyton was a Pey- 
ton before she married one — “ Madame Elise 
Roller she now calls herself.” 

“Yes, I see.” 

“ I suppose you saw a good deal of her in Paris, 
and my sister-in-law, Sarah Scaife that was — now 
Madame Schmidt. She showed me the dear 
departed’s picture the other day — a horrid little 
wretch he looked, while my brother, Edmund Pey- 
ton, was the handsomest young man in the county.” 

“ We saw Madame Roller quite often,” said 
Olivia. Mrs. Peyton was amazingly clever as a 
mind reader, and saw in a moment there was no 


i8 


THE BERKELEYS 


love lost between Olivia Berkeley and Madame 
Roller. 

“ And that Mr. Ahlberg. Sarah Scaife says he is 
a cousin of Eliza’s — I mean Elise’s — husband.” 

“ I should think if anybody knew the facts in 
the case it would be Sarah Scaife, as you call her,” 
replied Olivia laughing. “ I believe he is a very 
harmless kind of a man.” 

At that Mrs. Peyton took off her spectacles and 
looked at Olivia keenly. 

“ I hate to believe you are a goose,” she said, 
good-naturedly ; “ but you must be very innocent. 
Harmless! That is the very thing that man is 
not.” 

* 

“ So papa says, but I think it comes from Mr. 
Ahlberg eating asparagus with his fingers and not 
knowing how to play whist, or something of the 
kind. I have seen him on and off at watering 
places, and in Paris for two or three years. I never 
saw him do anything that wasn’t quite right — and I 
never heard anything against him except what you 
and papa say — and that is rather indefinite.” 

“ And you didn’t observe my niece with French 
Pembroke, did you ? ” 

Olivia Berkeley’s face turned a warm color. Such 
very plain spoken persons as Mrs. Peyton were a 
little embarrassing. But just then came the sound 
of the Colonel’s voice, raised at a considerable dis- 
tance. 

“ Olivia, my love — God bless my soul — Mrs. Pey- 
ton — there’s that charming niece of yours — what a 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


19 


creature she was when she lived in this county as 
Eliza Peyton — a regular stunner, begad — I must go 
and speak to her — and my particular friend, Ahl- 
berg — excuse me a moment, my love.” Colonel 
Berkeley stalked across the track, receiving all the 
attention which Pembroke had tried to avoid. 
Life in his beloved Virginia had almost driven the 
Colonel distracted by its dullness, and he could not 
but welcome a fellow creature from the outside. 
He buttoned his light overcoat trimly around his 
still handsome figure, and bowed majestically when 
he reached the carriage. Madame Koller returned 
the bow with a brilliant smile. She was beginning 
to feel very much alone, albeit she was in her 
native county, and she welcomed Colonel Berkeley 
as a deliverer. Evidently she soothed him about 
Dashaway. Pembroke, passing by, heard scraps 
like the following: 

“ I have seen just such things at the Grand 
Prix— ” 

“ Madame, the infernal system here of putting up 
irresponsible negro boys — ” 

“ I could see he had a superb stride — ” 

“ Dashaway, Madame Koller, comes from the 
very best stock in the State of Virginia.” 

The day wore on, and by dint of spinning things 
out most unconscionably it was dusk of the clear 
autumn evening before the cavalcade took the 
dusty white road toward home. In “ the Isleham 
carriage ” Colonel Berkeley leaned back and waxed 
confidential with his daughter. 


20 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ My dear, Eliza Peyton — Madame Koller I 
should say — is what you young sprigs call green — 
excessively green. She imagines because I am old 
I am a fool. And that precious scamp, Ahlberg — ” 

“ Why do you call him a scamp, papa?” 

“ Why do I call Petrarch an African ?” 

“ Mrs. Peyton seems to have some kind of a prej- 
udice to Mr. Ahlberg, too.” 

“ Aha, trust Sally Peyton to see for herself. 
She’s devilish tricky, is Sally Peyton — not that I 
have any cause to complain of it — none whatever. 
She’s very sharp. But we’ll go and call some day 
on Eli — Madame Koller. She’s not bad company 
for the country — and I’ve heard she could sing, 
too.” 

“ Yes, we will go,” answered Olivia, suppressing 
a yawn. “ It’s in the country, as you say.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


21 


CHAPTER II. 

DOES anybody ever ask what becomes of the 
prime donne who break down early ? Madame 
Roller could have told something about their mis- 
eries, from the first struggling steps up to the pin- 
nacle when they can fight with managers, down 
again to the point when the most dreadful sound 
that nature holds — so she thought — a hiss — laid 
them figuratively among the dead. Nature gener- 
ally works methodically, but in Madame Roller’s 
case, she seemed to take a delight in producing 
grapes from thorns. Without one atom of artistic 
heredity, surroundings or atmosphere to draw upon, 
Eliza Peyton had come into the world an artist. 
She had a voice, and she grew up with the convic- 
tion that there was nothing in the world but voices 
and pianos. It is not necessary to repeat how in her 
girlhood, by dint of her widowed mother marrying a 
third rate German professor, she got to Munich and 
to Milan — nor how the voice, at first astonishingly 
pure and beautiful, suddenly lost its pitch, then dis- 
appeared altogether. It is true that after a time it 
came back to her partially. She could count on it 
for an hour at a time, but no more. Of course 
there was no longer any career for her, and she 
nearly went crazy with grief — then she consoled 
herself with M. Roller, an elderly Swiss manufac- 


22 


THE BERKELEYS 


turer. In some way, although she was young and 
handsome and accomplished, she found in her con- 
tinental travels that the best Americans and 
English avoided the Rollers. This she rashly 
attributed to the fact of her having had a brief pro- 
fessional career, and she became as anxious to 
conceal it as she had once been anxious to pur- 
sue it. M. Roller was a hypochondriac, and went 
from Carlsbad to Weisbaden, from Weisbaden to 
Hy£res, from Hyeres to Aix-les-Bains. He was 
always fancying himself dying, but one day at 
Vichy, death came quite unceremoniously and 
claimed him just as he had made up his mind to get 
well. Thus Eliza Roller found herself a widow, 
still young and handsome, with a comfortable for- 
tune, and a negative mother to play propriety. 
She went straight to Paris as soon as the period of 
her mourning was over. It was then toward the 
latter part of the civil war in America, and there 
were plenty of Southerners in Paris. There she 
met Colonel Berkeley and Olivia, and for the first 
time in her adult life, she had a fixed place in 
society — there was a circle in which she was 
known. 

What most troubled her, was what role to take 
up — whether she should be an American, a French 
woman, an Italian, a German, or a cosmopolitan. 
For she was like all, and was distinctively none. 
In Paris at that time, she met a cousin of her late 
husband — Mr. Ahlberg, also a Swiss, but in the 
Russian diplomatic service. He was a sixth Secre- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


23 


tary of Legation, and had hard work making his 
small salary meet his expenses. He was a hand- 
some man, very blonde, and extremely well-dressed. 
Madame Koller often wondered if his tailor were 
not a very confiding person. For Ahlberg’s part, 
he sincerely liked his cousin, as he called her, and 
quite naturally slipped into the position of a friend 
of the family. Everything perhaps would have 
been arranged to his satisfaction, if just at that 
time the war had not closed, and French Pembroke 
and his brother came to Paris that the surgeons 
might work upon poor Miles. They could not but 
meet often at the Berkeleys, and Pembroke, it must 
be admitted, was not devoid of admiration for the 
handsome Madame Koller, who had the divine 
voice — when she could be persuaded to sing, which 
was not often. He had been rather attentive to 
her, much to Ahlberg’s disgust. And to Ahlberg’s 
infinite rage, Madame Koller fell distinctly and 
unmistakably in love with Pembroke. If Ahl- 
berg had only known the truth, Pembroke was 
really the first gentleman that poor Madame Koller 
had ever known intimately since her childhood in 
Virginia. Certainly the wildest stretch of imagina- 
tion could not call the late Koller a gentleman, and 
even Ahlberg himself, although a member of the 
diplomatic corps, hardly came under that descrip- 
tion. 

Pembroke had a kind of hazy idea that widows 
could take care of themselves. Besides, he was 
not really in love with her — only a little dazzled 


24 


THE BERKELEYS 


by her voice and her yellow hair. His wrath may 
be imagined when after a considerable wrench in 
tearing himself away from Paris, and when he had 
begun to regard Olivia Berkeley with that lofty 
approval which sometimes precedes love making, 
to return to Virginia, and in six weeks to find Mad- 
ame Schmidt and Madame Roller established at 
their old place, The Beeches, and Ahlberg, who 
had been their shadow for two years, living at the 
village tavern. He felt that this following him, on 
the part of Madame Roller, made him ridiculous. 
He was mortally afraid of being laughed at about 
it. Instead of holding his own stoutly in acrid dis- 
cussions with Colonel Berkeley, Pembroke began 
to be afraid of the old gentleman’s pointed allusions 
to the widow. He even got angry with poor little 
Miles when the boy ventured upon a little sly chaff. 
As for Olivia Berkeley, she took Madame Roller’s 
conduct in coming to Virginia in high dudgeon, 
with that charming inconsequence of noble and 
inexperienced womeh. What particular offense it 
gave her, beyond the appearance of following Pem- 
broke, which was shocking to her good taste, she 
could not have explained to have saved her life. 
But with Madame Roller she took a tone of polite- 
ness, sweet yet chilly, like frozen cream — and the 
same in a less degree, toward Pembroke. She 
seemed to say, “ Odious and underbred as this thing 
is, I, you see, can afford to be magnanimous.” 
Colonel Berkeley chuckled at this on the part of 
his daughter, as he habitually did at the innocent 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 25 

foibles of his fellow creatures. It was very inno- 
cent, very feminine, and very exasperating. 

Nevertheless, within a week the big landau was 
drawn up, and Colonel Berkeley and his daughter 
set forth, en grand tenue, with Petrarch on the box, 
to call on Madame Roller. The Colonel had never 
ceased teasing his daughter to go. Time hung 
heavy on his hands, and although he had not found 
Madame Roller particularly captivating elsewhere, 
and Madame Schmidt bored him to death upon the 
few occasions when she appeared, yet, when he 
was at Isleham, the ladies at The Beeches assumed 
quite a fascinating aspect to his imagination. The 
Colonel had a private notion of his own that Mad- 
ame Roller had been a little too free with her 
income, and that a year’s retirement would contrib- 
ute to the health of her finances. Olivia, how- 
ever, believed that Madame Roller had but one 
object in returning to America, and that was 
because Pembroke had come. She remembered 
one evening in Paris, Pembroke had “ dropped in,” 
American fashion. The doctors had then said that 
nothing could be done to restore poor Miles to 
comeliness — and meanwhile, another blow had 
fallen upon the two brothers. Their only sister, 
Elizabeth, a handsome, high spirited girl, older than 
they, had died — and there had been a violent breach 
between her and their father to which death alone 
put a truce. When the country was overrun with 
troops, a Federal officer had protected the planta- 
tion as far as he could, had saved the old father 


2 6 


THE BERKELEYS 


from the consequences of his own rash conduct, and 
had taken a deep and tender interest in the daugh- 
ter. This was enough to blast Elizabeth’s life. 
She gave up her lover — silently, but with a strange 
unyielding gentleness, she kept aloof from her 
father. She was not condemned to suffer long. 
The unhappy father followed her swiftly to the old 
burying ground at Malvern. Men commonly seek 
distraction in griefs. Pembroke was like the rest. 
He was popular, especially among the English 
colony where his love of sports and manly accom- 
plishments made him a favorite — to say nothing 
of that prestige, which attaches to a man who has 
seen service. He had gone into the war a lieuten- 
ant, and had come out as major of his ragged, 
half-starved regiment. Therefore when Pembroke 
idled and amused himself in Paris, for some time 
Olivia could only feel sympathy for him. She knew 
well enough that his means were small and the 
company he kept was liable to diminish them — but 
after a while, she began to feel a hot indignation 
against him. So on this particular evening, the 
Colonel falling asleep opportunely, she took occa- 
sion to express her opinion to Pembroke, that their 
ruined country needed the presence and the service 
of every man she could call her own. Pembroke 
defended himself warmly at first. He came for 
Miles’ sake — the boy whom he had thought safe at 
school, and who ran away in the very last days of 
the war to enlist — and almost the last shot that was 
fired — so Pembroke said bitterly — disfigured the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


2 7 


boy as he now was. Miles had been eager to come, 
although Pembroke was convinced from the begin- 
ning that neither the French, nor any other sur- 
geons could repair the work of that shot. He 
admitted that the boy had borne the final decision 
with great manliness and courage “ for such a little 
chap,” the elder brother said fondly. When pressed 
hard by Olivia about returning home, Pembroke 
though had no resource but epigrams. 

“ At all events,” she said presently, with a pretty 
air of heroism, “ Papa and I are going home just as 
soon as papa can do without his crutch. Papa is a pa- 
triot, although he does talk so remarkably sometimes. 

“ Then, after you have got back, you can let me 
know how you like Virginia as it is, and perhaps I 
will follow,” he answered, laughing in a very exas- 
perating way, Olivia thought. But when the 
Berkeleys got home they found that the Pembrokes 
had arrived some weeks before them — and soon 
afterward Madame Koller and her mother turned up 
quite unexpectedly at their deserted old place, only 
to be followed shortly after by Ahlberg, who, from 
his abode at the village tavern rode over every day 
on a sorry nag, to see Madame Koller. 

Imagine all this in a provincial country neighbor- 
hood ! 

Mr. Cole, the clergyman of Petsworth parish, was 
a bachelor, a small, neatly-featured person, sus- 
pected of High Church leanings. The Colonel had 
bluntly inquired of him if he intended to call on 
Madame Koller. 


28 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ Hardly, I think, sir,” responded Mr. Cole, with 
much severity. “ She has not once been to church 
since she returned to the county — and she only 
two miles off — and I hear that she and her friend 
Mr. Ahlberg play billiards all day long Sunday, 
when they are not playing cards.” 

“ Only the more reason for you to convert the 
heathen, ha ! ha ! ” answered the Colonel — “ and 
let me tell you, Cole, if you hadn’t been a clergy- 
man, you would have been a regular slayer among 
the women — and the heathen in this case is about 
as pretty a heathen as you can find in the State of 
Virginia, sir.” 

Evidently these remarks made a great impression 
on Mr. Cole, for on the sunny afternoon, when 
Colonel Berkeley and Olivia drove up to the door 
of The Beeches, they saw a clerical looking figure 
disappear ahead of them within the doorway.” 

“The parson’s here, by Jove,” chuckled the 
Colonel. 

The house was modern and rather showy. Inside 
there were evidences that Madame Roller was not 
devoid of taste or money either. The Berkeleys 
were ushered into a big square drawingroom, where, 
seated in a high-backed chair, with his feet barely 
touching the floor, was the little clergyman. 

“ Why, Cole, I am deuced glad you took my 
advice,” cried the Colonel, advancing with out- 
stretched hand and with a kind of hearty good fel- 
lowship that pleased Mr. Cole, and yet frightened 
him a little. He was a good soul and divided his 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


2 9 


small salary with his mother, but he thought Colonel 
Berkeley’s society rather dangerous for a clergy- 
man. He used too many expletives, and was alto- 
gether too free in his notions of what a churchman 
should be — for the Colonel was a stanch church- 
man, and would have sworn like a pirate at any- 
body who questioned his orthodoxy. 

“Doing missionary work, hay, Mr. Cole?” con- 
tinued Colonel Berkeley, while Olivia and Mr. Cole 
shook hands. 

A faint pink mounted into the clergyman’s face. 
His curiosity had got the better of him, but the 
excellent little man fancied it was his Christian 
charity that won the victory. 

“ Well, Colonel,” he begun, “ upon reflection I 
concluded it was my duty to call on Madame Rol- 
ler. I wasn’t in this parish — in fact, I wasn’t 
ordained at the time Madame Roller was Miss Eliza 
Peyton, and Madame Schmidt was Mrs. Edward 
Peyton. And being the niece of my excellent 
friend — Mrs. Sally Peyton — ” 

“ Excellent friend, eh — well, don’t you trust Sally 
Peyton too far, my good fellow. She was a mighty 
uncertain kind of a friend thirty or forty years ago 
— not that I have any particular reason for saying 
so. But you are quite right in paying your 
respects to Eliza Peyton — I mean Madame Roller, 
and I only hope she’ll find our society agreeable 
enough to stay here.” 

A considerable wait ensued. Olivia had begun 
to wonder how long it took Madame Roller to 
3 


30 


THE BERKELEYS 


make a complete toilet, when a white hand 
moved the curtain from a doorway, and noiselessly 
and gently Madame Roller entered. 

She was heartily glad to see them — their call was 
not very prompt, but it would have been a cruel 
mortification had they omitted to come. Olivia's 
hand she pressed — so she did the Colonel's — and 
also Mr. Cole's, who colored quite violently, although 
he struggled for self-possession. 

“ We are very glad you have come," said Olivia, 
with her sweetest affability, “you will be a great 
acquisition to the neighborhood. You see, I am 
already beginning to think more of our own neigh- 
borhood than all the rest of the universe." 

“ Thank you for your kindness," answered 
Madame Roller, with equal cordiality. The two 
women, however, did not cease to examine each 
other like gladiators. 

“ And Mr. Cole, I think you were not here when 
I lived at The Beeches as a girl." 

“No, madam," replied Mr. Cole, who had now 
shaded from a red to a pink. 

“ And did I not have the pleasure of seeing you 
at the Campdown races the other day? " 

Mr. Cole turned pale and nearly dropped off his 
chair. The Colonel roared out his pleasant cheery 
laugh. 

“ No madam, you did not." Mr. Cole made his 
denial so emphatic that he was ashamed of himself 
for it afterwards. 

“ But you, Miss Berkeley, were there. My cousin 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


31 


Ahlberg saw you. He praised you. He compli- 
mented you. ‘ I have often seen that face,’ he said. 
* There are some faces which one remembers even 
in the whirl of the greatest cities. I drive around 
the Bois de Boulogne — once — twice — three times. 
I speak to a hundred friends. I see a thousand 
faces. They pass before me like shadows of the 
night. One face strikes me. It rises like a star 
from out the sea. Ah, I exclaim, 1 here is another 
photograph for my mental portrait gallery.’ ” 

Neither the Colonel nor Olivia was fully prepared 
to accept Ahlberg. Consequently, Madame Rol- 
ler’s remark was received with a cool smile by 
Olivia — and a sniff by the Colonel. But Mr. Cole 
was quite carried away by Madame Roller’s declam- 
atory manner, and her really beautiful voice. 

“ What a gift of tongues,” he said. “ Madame 
Roller, if a- — er — public speaker — a religious in- 
structor had your felicity of expression — ” 

“I trust,” answered Madame, “ some time to 
have the pleasure of hearing your felicity of expres- 
sion. I am not what you call a Christian. I believe 
in a system of ultimate good — a philosophy if you 
will—” 

“Yes, yes,” cordially chimed in Colonel Berkeley 
with something dangerously like a wink, “ I knew 
Madame, as soon as I saw you that you believed in a 
system. It’s very useful and elastic and philosophic.” 

Madame playfully waved her hand at the colonel, 
and turned to Mr. Cole. 

“ We will be friends, nevertheless,” she said with 


32 


THE BERKELEYS 


a captivating smile. “ I will visit your church in 
the morning, and you will return to luncheon with 
me, and we will have a little game of billiards after- 
ward.” 

Mr. Cole’s delicate face grew ashy. He, John 
Chrysostom Cole, playing billiards on Sunday ! 
What would his mother say — and what would the 
bishop say ! Olivia looked a little shocked because 
of course Madame Roller must know better. Not 
so the Colonel. He laughed heartlessly at Mr. Cole, 
and began to think Eliza Peyton was a more amus- 
ing person than he had fancied. 

“ Madame Roller, ” began Mr. Cole solemnly after 
a moment, “ your long absence from this country 
— your unfamiliarity with clergymen perhaps — and 
with the American Sabbath — ” 

“Oh, yes, I remember the American Sabbath 
very well,” replied Madame Roller laughing and 
raising her eyebrows. “ My aunt, Mrs. Peyton, 
always took me to church with her, and I had to 
listen to Dr. Steptoe’s sermons. Oh those ser- 
mons ! However,” she added, turning her express- 
ive eyes full on Mr. Cole. “ I know, I know yours 
must be very different. Well, I will go. And for- 
give me, if I sometimes shock you — forgive and 
pity me.” 

Mr. Cole thought that only a heart of stone 
could have hardened against that pretty appeal. 
And the widow was so deliciously charming with 
her half-foreign manner and her whole-foreign look. 
But billiards on Sunday ! 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


33 


“ Extend the invitation to me, ma’am/’ said the 
Colonel. “ I go to church on Sunday — I have no 
system, just the plain religious belief of a church- 
man and a gentleman — my ancestors were not 
a lot of psalm-singing hypocrites, but cavaliers, 
madam, from the Court of Charles the Second. 
But after I’ve been to church to please my con- 
science and my daughter, I don’t mind pleasing 
myself a little. I’ll play billiards with you — ” 

The door opened and Ahlberg appeared. Now 
Mr. Ahlberg was not a favorite of Colonel Berke- 
ley’s at any time — still less of Olivia’s ; but it was in 
the country, and it was very, very dull, so he got 
the most cordial greeting he had ever had from 
either of them. The conversation became general, 
and as soon as Ahlberg had the opportunity, he 
edged toward Olivia. He was no gentle, unsophis- 
ticated creature, like Mr. Cole. He knew that 
Olivia Berkeley’s polite and self-possessed manner 
toward him concealed a certain hardness. He 
made no particular headway in her good graces he 
saw — and not much more in the Colonel’s. But 
both gentlemen were hard up for amusement, and 
each was willing to be amused, so, when Mr. Ahlberg, 
after a few well-bred vacuities with Olivia, devoted 
himself to Colonel Berkeley, he was rewarded with 
the intimation that the Colonel would call on 
him at the village tavern, and this was followed 
up by another hint of a dinner invitation to follow. 
This cheered Mr. Ahlberg very much, for to tell 
the truth he was as near starvation as a man could 


34 


THE BERKELEYS 


be in this nineteenth century, who had money in 
his pocket. If, however, Mr. Ahlberg had made 
it his business to horrify Mr. Cole, he could not 
have done it more thoroughly. He bewailed the 
absence of book-makers at the races, and wished to 
know why elections were not held in America on 
Sunday, took occasion to say that religion was 
merely an affair of the State, and he too was a 
believer in a system. When they all rose to go, 
poor Mr. Cole was quite limp and overcome, but he 
made an effort to retain his self-possession. He 
urged both Madame Roller and Mr. Ahlberg to 
attend the morning service on the following Sun- 
day. Both promised conditionally. 

The clergyman had walked over from the rec- 
tory where his mother presided over his modest 
establishment. 

“ Come, Cole,” cried the Colonel, who was the 
soul of hospitality, “ here’s another seat in the 
carriage. Come back to dinner with us. I’ve got 
some capital champagne, and Olivia will play for 
you.” 

“ I don’t care about the champagne, thank you,” 
answered Mr. Cole, “ but I’ll come for the pleasure 
of Miss Olivia’s playing and her society also.” 

Scarcely had the carriage turned into the lane, 
when Mr. Cole burst forth : 

“ Miss Olivia, did you ever meet a more godless 
person in your life than Mr. Ahlberg?” 

“ I don’t think I ever did,” answered Olivia, 
with much sincerity. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


35 


“ But the widow — Eliza Peyton — eh, Cole ? I 
think you have made some headway there/’ cried 
the Colonel, wagging his head at the little clergy- 
man. Mr. Cole’s heart began to thump. Strange 
it was that although he ought, as a Christian and a 
clergyman, to disapprove of Madame Koller with 
her beautiful blonde hair, he could not find it in his 
heart to feel it. Nevertheless he could say it 
easily enough. 

“ I very much doubt, sir, the propriety of my 
visiting at The Beeches.” 

“ Pooh, pooh. You’ll get over it,” chuckled 
Colonel Berkeley. 

Ah, John Chrysostom ! Has it never been known 
that the outward man denounced what the inward 
man yearned and hankered after ? At this very 
moment do you not remember the turn of Madame 
Roller’s handsome head, and the faint perfume that 
exhaled from her trailing gown ? 

“ We must invite them to dinner,” said the 
Colonel, decidedly. “ Cole, you must come, too. 
That poor devil, Ahlberg, is almost starved at the 
tavern on fried chicken three times a day, and 
claret from the tavern bar.” 


3 ^ 


THE BERKELEYS 


CHAPTER III. 

A ROUND of solemn afternoon dinings followed 
the return of the Berkeleys to Isleham, and were 
scrupulously returned. But both the Colonel and 
Olivia felt that it would not be well to include any 
of the county gentry the day Madame Roller and 
Mr. Ahlberg were to dine with them. Mr. Cole 
had already been invited — and Colonel Berkeley of 
his own free will, without saying a word to Olivia, 
asked the two Pembrokes. Olivia, when she heard 
of this, was intensely vexed. She had used both 
sarcasm and persuasion on Pembroke in Paris to 
get him home, and he had laughed at her. Yet she 
was firmly convinced, as soon as Madame Roller 
expressed a determination to come, either Pem- 
broke had agreed, or else Madame Roller had fol- 
lowed him — in either case Olivia was not pleased, 
and received the Colonel’s information that the 
Pembrokes would be there sure in ominous silence. 
Nothing remained but for her to show what a 
remarkably good dinner she could give — and this 
she felt was clearly within her power. She was 
naturally a clever housekeeper, and as the case often 
was in those days, the freedom of the negroes had 
made but little difference in the manage at Isle- 
ham. Most of the house servants had turned 
squatters on the plantation. Petrarch, unpopular 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


3 7 


among his confreres because of his superior advan- 
tages and accomplishments as well as his assump- 
tion of righteousness, was the major-domo — and 
then there was Ike, a gingerbread colored Chester- 
field, as dining-room servant. 

“ Miss ’Livy, you jes’ let me manage dem black 
niggers,” was Petrarch’s sensible advice. “ Dey 
doan know nuttin’ ’bout a real swell dinner. I say 
yistiddy to Cook M’ria, 4 Why doan yer have 
some orntrees fur dinner outen all dat chicken an’ 
truck you has lef’ over ev’y day?’ an’ Miss ’Livy, ef 
you will b’lieve me, dat nigger, she chase me outen 
de kitchen wid a shovel full o’ live coals. She ain’ 
got no ’spect for ’ligion. Arter I got out in de 
yard, I say, ‘You discontemptuous, disreligious ole 
cantamount, doan’ you know better’n to sass de 
Lord’s ’n’inted ? ’ ” (this being Petrarch’s favorite 
characterization of himself). “ But M’ria ain’ got 
de sperrit ’scusin’ ’tis de sperrit o’ owdaciousness. 
Ez fur dat Ike, I done tole him ‘ I am de Gord o’ 
respicution,’ an’ he ’low I ain’t no sech a thing. I 
gwi’n lick dat yaller nigger fo’ long.” 

“You’d better not try it Uncle Petrarch — ” (Pe- 
trarch was near to sixty, and was therefore by cour- 
tesy, Uncle Petrarch). “ Ike won’t stand it, and 
/ won’t have it either, I can tell you.” 

The Berkeleys went against the county custom, 
and dined in the evening. Therefore, at seven 
o’clock precisely, on the evening of the dinner, 
French Pembroke and his brother entered the 
quaint old drawing-room at Isleham. Olivia had 


38 


THE BERKELEYS 


learned the possibilities of ancient mahogany fur- 
niture and family portraits, and the great rambling 
old house was picturesque enough. A genuine 
Virginia wood fire roared up the chimney, where 
most of the heat as well as the flame went. Wax 
candles, in tall silver candlesticks, were on the man- 
tel, and the piano. Miss Berkeley herself, in a white 
wool gown, looked a part of the pleasant homelike 
picture, as she greeted her two guests. French 
Pembroke had called twice to see them, but neither 
time had Olivia been at home. This, then, was 
their first meeting, except the few minutes at the 
races. He was the same easy, pleasantly cynical 
Pembroke she had known in Paris. There was 
another French Pembroke whom she remembered 
in her childish days as very good natured, when he 
was not very tyrannical, in the visits she used to 
pay with her dead and gone mother long ago to 
Malvern — and this other Pembroke could recite 
wonderful poetry out of books, and scare little 
Miles and herself into delicious spasms of terror 
by the weird stories he would tell. But Miles had 
changed in every way. He had been in his earlier 
boyish days the pet and darling of women, but now 
he slunk away from the pity in their tender eyes. 
He had once had a mannish little strut and a way 
of looking out of his bold blue eyes that made a 
path for him wherever he chose to tread. But 
now he shambled in, keeping as far out of sight as 
possible behind the elder brother’s stalwart figure. 

Colonel Berkeley shook Miles’s one hand cor 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


39 

dially. His armless sleeve was pinned up to his 
coat front. 

“ God bless my soul,” the Colonel cried. “Am 
I getting old ? Here’s little Miles Pembroke almost 
a man.” 

“ Almost — papa — you mean quite a man. It is 
a dreadful reflection to me that I am older than 
Miles,” said Olivia, smiling. Then they sat about 
the fire, and Olivia, putting her fan down in her 
lap, looked French Pembroke full in the face and 
said, “You know, perhaps, that Madame Koller 
and Mr. Ahlberg dine here to-night ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Pembroke, with all the coolness 
of conscious innocence — or brazen assurance of 
careless wickedness, Olivia could not tell which. 

“You saw a good deal of them abroad, didn’t 
you ?” was her next question. 

“Yes,” again replied Pembroke. 

“ Olivia, my dear,” said her father, who very 
much enjoyed this little episode, “ you women 
will never learn that you can’t find anything out 
by asking questions ; and Pembroke, my boy, 
remember that women never believe you except 
when you are lying to them. Let him alone, 
Olivia, and he will tell you the whole story, I’ll 
warrant.” 

Olivia’s training had made her something of a 
stoic under Colonel Berkeley’s remarks, but at this 
a deep red dyed her clear pale face. She was the 
best of daughters, but she could at that moment 
have cheerfully inflicted condign punishment on 


40 


THE BERKELEYS 


her father. Pembroke saw it too, not without a lit- 
tle malicious satisfaction. She had quietly assumed 
in her tone and manner that he was in some way 
responsible for Madame Roller and her mother be- 
ing at The Beeches — an incident fraught with much 
discomfort for him — none the less that there was 
nothing tragic about it, but rather ridiculous. All 
the same, he determined to set himself right on the 
spot. 

“ Of course, I saw them often. It would have 
been quite unpardonable if I had not, considering 
we were often in the same places — and our land 
joins. I can’t say that I recollect Madame Roller 
very much before she went away. I only remem- 
ber her as rather an ugly little thing, always strum- 
ming on the piano. I took the liberty of telling 
both her and Madame Schmidt that I did not think 
they would find a winter at The Beeches very pleas- 
ant — but it seems she did not agree with me. 
Ahlberg is a cousin by marriage, and has been in 
the diplomatic corps — ” 

And at that very moment Petrarch threw open 
the drawing-room door and announced “ Mrs. Roller 
and Mr. Ahlberg, sah.” 

Madame Roller’s appearance was none the less 
striking in evening dress, with ropes of amber 
around her neck, and some very fine diamonds. 
Who says that women are indifferent to each other? 
The instant Olivia beheld Madame Roller in her 
gorgeous trailing gown of yellow silk, and her jew- 
els, she felt plain, insignificant, and colorless both in 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


41 


features, dress and manner — while Madame Koller, 
albeit she knew both herself and other women sin- 
gularly well, almost envied Olivia the girlish sim- 
plicity, the slightness and grace that made her a 
pretty picture in her white gown with the bunch of 
late autumn roses at her belt. 

The clergyman came last. Then Petrarch opened 
the folding doors and announced dinner, and Colonel 
Berkeley gallantly offering his arm to Madame Kol- 
ler, they all marched in. 

Something like a sigh of satisfaction escaped Mr. 
Ahlberg. Once more he was to dine. Madame 
Koller sat on the Colonel’s right, and at her right was 
Mr. Cole. The clergyman’s innocent heart beat 
when he saw this arrangement. He still fancied 
that he strongly disapproved of Madame Koller, 
the more so when he saw the nonchalant way in 
which she took champagne and utterly ignored the 
carafe of water at her plate. Mr. Cole took only 
claret, and watered that liberally. 

Madame Koller certainly had a very pretty man- 
ner — rather elaborate and altogether different from 
Olivia’s self-possessed simplicity. She spoke of her 
mother — “ so happy once more to be back in Vir- 
ginia.” Madame Schmidt, always wrapped up in 
shawls, and who never volunteered a remark to any- 
body in her life, scarcely seemed to outsiders to be 
quite capable of any enjoyment. And Aunt Peyton 
— dear Aunt Peyton — so kind, so handsome — so 
anxious that people shall please themselves — 
“ Upon my soul, madam,” cried the Colonel, with 


42 


THE BERKELEYS 


much hearty good humor, “ I am delighted to hear 
that last about my old friend Sally Peyton. I’ve 
known her well for fifty years — perhaps she wouldn’t 
acknowledge it — and a more headstrong, deter- 
mined, self-willed woman I never saw. Sally is a 
good woman, and by heaven, she was a devilish 
pretty one when — when — you may have heard the 
story, ma’am — but she always wanted to please her- 
self a d — n sight more than anybody else — includ- 
ing Ned Peyton.” 

The Colonel said this quite pleasantly, and 
Madame Koller smiled at it — she seldom laughed. 

Were you not some years in the army, Colonel 
Berkeley?” she asked presently. “ It seems to 
me I have some recollection of having heard it.” 
Colonel Berkeley colored slightly. He valued his 
military title highly, but he didn’t know exactly 
how he came by it. 

“ The fact is madam,” he replied, clearing his 
throat, “ in the old days we had a splendid militia. 
Don’t you remember the general musters, hay? 
Now I was the — the commanding officer of the 
Virginia Invincibles — a crack cavalry company, 
composed exclusively of the county gentlemen — 
and in some way, they called me colonel, and a 
colonel I remained.” 

“The title seems quite natural,” said Madame 
Koller, with a sweet smile — “You have such a 
military carriage — that indescribable air — ” at which 
the Colonel, who never tired of laughing at other 
people’s foibles, straightened up, assumed a mar- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


43 


tial pose, and showed vast elation and immense 
pleasure — which Madame Roller saw out of the 
corner of her eye. 

Miles, sitting next Olivia, had grown confiden- 
tial. “ I — I — want to tell you,” he said bashfully, 
“ the reason why I didn’t come to see you in Paris. 
It required some nerve for a fellow — in my condi- 
tion — to face a woman — even the best and kindest.” 

“ Was that it ? ” answered Olivia half smiling. 

“ You are laughing at me,” he said reproachfully. 

“ Of course I am,” replied Olivia. 

A genuine look of relief stole into his poor face. 
Perhaps it was not so bad after all if Olivia Berkely 
could laugh at his sensitiveness. 

“ So,” continued Olivia, promptly, “ you acted 
like a vain, foolish boy. But I see you are getting 
over it.” 

“ I’ll try. You wouldn’t treat me so cavalierly, 
would you, if — if — it were quite — dreadful ? ” 

“ No, it isn’t dreadful at all, or anything like it,” 
replied Olivia, telling one of those generous and 
womanly fibs that all true women utter with the 
full approval of their consciences. 

Meanwhile, Ahlberg and Pembroke had been 
conversing. Ahlberg was indeed a clever fellow — 
for he talked in a straightforward way, and gave 
not the slightest ground in anything he said for 
the suspicion that Pembroke obstinately cherished 
against him. 

“ What do you do with yourself all day, Miss 
Berkeley?” asked Pembroke after a while. 


44 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ There is plenty to do. I have a dozen servants 
to manage that ran wild while we were away — 
and the house to keep, and to look after the gar- 
den — and I ride or drive every day — and keep up 
my piano playing — and read a little. What do 
you do ? ” 

“ Nothing,” answered Pembroke, boldly. 

Olivia did not say a word. She threw him one 
brief glance though, from her dark eyes that con- 
veyed a volume. 

“ I have a license to practice law,” he continued, 
coolly. “ I’ve had it for five years — got it just 
before the State went out, when I went out too. 
Four years’ soldiering isn’t a good preparation for 
the law.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Olivia. 

“ I have enough left, I daresay, to keep me with- 
out work,” he added. 

If he had studied how to make himself contempt- 
ible in Olivia’s eyes, he could not have done so 
more completely. She had acquired perfect self- 
possession of manner, but her mobile face was as 
yet undisciplined. When to this last remark she 
said in her sweetest manner, “ Won’t you let 
Petrarch fill your glass?” it was equivalent to say- 
ing, “ You are the most worthless and contemptible 
creature on this planet.” Just then the Colonel’s 
cheery voice resounded from the foot of the table. 

“ Pembroke, when I drove through the Court 
House to-day, it made me feel like a young man 
again, to see your father’s old tin sign hanging out 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


45 


of the old office, ‘ French Pembroke, Attorney at 
Law.’ It has been a good many years since that 
sign was first put up. Egad, your father and I have 
had some good times in that office, in the old, old 
days. He always kept a first-class brand of liquors. 
His style of serving it wasn’t very imposing, but it 
didn’t hurt the liquor. I’ve drank cognac fit for a 
king in that office, and drank it out of a shaving 
mug borrowed from the barber next door — ha ! ha ! ” 

A change like magic swept over Olivia’s face. It 
indicated great relief that Pembroke was not an 
idle scamp after all. She tried to look sternly and 
reproachfully at him, but a smile lurked in her eyes. 

“ You are not as lazy as I thought you, but twice 
as deceitful,” she said. 

Pembroke was amused at the extreme suavity of 
the two ladies toward each other, knowing that 
at heart it masked an armed neutrality. Particu- 
larly did he notice it after dinner, when they 
returned to the drawing-room and the piano was 
opened. Madame Koller was asked to sing, but first 
begged that Miss Berkeley should play. Olivia, with- 
out protesting, went to the piano. Her playing was 
finished and artistic, and full of the delicate repose 
of a true musician. When she rose Madame Koller 
overflowed with compliments. “ And now, madam,” 
said the Colonel, rising and offering his hand with a 
splendid and graceful flourish, “ will you not let us 
hear that voice that charmed us when you were lit- 
tle Eliza Peyton.” 

Madame Koller did not like to be called Eliza 
4 


46 


THR BERKELEYS 


Peyton — it was too commonplace— Elise Roller 
was much more striking. And then she was uncer- 
tain whether to sing or not. She had tried hard to 
keep that stage episode secret, and she was afraid 
if she sang, that something might betray her. She 
glanced at Ahlberg, as much as to say, “ Shall I ? ” 
but Ahlberg maintained a sphinx-like gravity. But 
the temptation was too great. Olivia’s playing 
was pretty for an amateur — but Madame Roller de- 
spised the best amateur performance as only a true 
professional can. Therefore she rose and went to 
the piano, and turned over some of the ballads 
there. She pretended to be looking at them, but 
she was not. 

“ Louis,” she said to Ahlberg, who was twisting 
his waxed mustache. He came at once and 
seated himself at the piano. 

“ What do you think of “ Caro nome ? ” she asked. 

“ Very good. You always sung the Rigoletto 
music well.” 

Madame Roller was not pleased at this slip — but 
at all events, nobody but herself understood it in 
the sense that Ahlberg meant. 

Ahlberg struck a few chords, and Madame Roller 
begun from memory the celebrated aria. As she 
sang, Colonel Berkeley opened his sharp old eyes very 
wide indeed. This was not the kind of music often 
heard in drawing rooms. He glanced at Pembroke, 
to see if he was astonished. That young gentle, 
man only leaned back in the sofa corner near the 
fire to better enjoy this delicious singing. Olivia’s 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


47 


face looked puzzled — so did Miles. In singing, 
Madame Koller was handsomer than ever. She 
had perfect control over her facial expression, and 
seemed quite transformed. Once or twice she used 
a graceful gesture, or made a step forward — it was 
highly dramatic, but not in the least stagy. 

But if Madame Roller’s performance was far out 
of the common run, so was that of her accompanist. 
He looked remarkably at home on the piano stool, 
and Colonel Berkeley rubbed his eyes and tried to 
recall if he had ever seen Ahlberg ornamenting a 
piano stool at a concert, but could not remember. 
When the last brilliant note and rich chord died 
away Miles Pembroke suddenly began to clap his 
knee loudly with his one remaining hand — which 
produced a furious hand clapping, in which every- 
body else vehemently and involuntarily joined, Mr. 
Cole feebly shouting “ Bravo ! Bravo ! ” Madame 
Koller started, and when the applause ceased, she 
seemed like one coming out of a dream, In the 
buzz of compliments that followed, Ahlberg’s voice 
cut in saying, “ You were too dramatic.” 

Madame Koller had been receiving the compli- 
ments paid her with smiling grace, but at this, she 
cast a strange look on Ahlberg, nor would she sing 
again, although urged to do so. And presently it 
was time to leave, and Madame Koller and her 
escort departed in the little victoria which had 
come for them, the Colonel wrapping her up in 
innumerable furs to protect her from the sharp 
night air of November. 


48 


THE BERKELEYS 


When he returned to the drawing room, Olivia 
and the clergyman and the Pembrokes were all 
standing around the blazing fire. The Colonel 
walked in, and squaring himself before the generous 
fireplace with his coat tails over his arm, surveyed 
the company and remarked, 

“ Professional, by Jove.” 

“ Now, papa,” said Olivia, taking him by the arm, 
“ you are the best and kindest of men, but you 
shan’t say ‘professional, by Jove,’ of Madame 
Roller, the very minute she has quitted your house. 
You know how often I’ve told you of my rule that 
you shall not mention the name of a guest until 
twenty-four hours after that guest’s departure.” 

She said it with an air of authority, and tweaked 
the Colonel’s ear to emphasize her severity. 

“ But I am not saying any harm about her, 
Olivia.” 

“Just what I expected,” groaned Mr. Cole. 

“ Perhaps her voice gave out, and she quitted the 
stage early,” remarked Pembroke. 

“ Not a word more,” cried Olivia sternly. “ She 
sings delightfully. But — a — it was rather prima 
donna-ish.” 

“ Aha ! Oho ! ” shouted the Colonel. “ There 
you are, my dear ! ” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

A WEEK or two after the dinner at Isleham, Pem- 
broke sat in his office, one afternoon, at the county- 
seat, with a letter spread out before him. It was 
very thumbed and illiterate, and quite devoid of 
punctuation. 

“ Marse french, i is in a heap of truble marse 
french an i aint done nuttin — i bought ten akers 
fum mr. Hackett you know mr. hackett he some 
relation to dem Hibbses he come frum i donow 
whar an he alius cussin de yankees an I had done 
pay him fur de ten akers mos all i had done got 
married ter Jane you know Jane whar was Miss 
livia Berkeley maid, an mr. hackett he come an he 
say he was gwine take the baid an he call me a low 
down nigger and kase I arnser him he hit me wid 
he stick an marse french i couldn’t help it an he hit 
Jane too an i knock him down an o marse french he 
went home an naix day he die an de sheriff he come 
an put me in jail — i feerd dey gwine hang me like a 
hound dog i aint got no money fur lawyers, an mr. 
hackett’s folks dem Hibbses dey is engage all de 
lawyers i dunno what i gwine do if you doan cum 
home to try me marse french — you know i was yur 
vally an daddy he was ole marse’s vally, an me an 
you useter go fishin when we was small an ole marse 


50 


THE BERKELEYS 


useter lick bofe on us fur gittin drownded in de 
crick i earn sleep at night, not kase de bed is hard 
an de straw cum thu de tickin but kase i feerd dey 
gwine ter hang me like a hound dog de black folks 
is agin me kase mr. hackett was fum de norf an de 
white folks is agin me kase mr. hackett was white 
o marse french fur Gord Amighty’s sake come long 
home and doan let em hang me Jane she is mighty 
poly an earn cum to see me sum gentmun swar at 
me you aint never done it — you give me a quarter 
evry time I hoi yo horse No mo now from 

“ bob henry.” 

This letter had reached him in Paris, and had 
more to do with bringing him home just when he 
came than Madame Koller — much more than Mad- 
ame Koller expected — or Olivia, either, for that 
matter. 

“ It is a rather hard case,” he thought to himself, 
with a grim smile, “ a man can’t go and say, ‘ See 
what a disinterested thing I have done : come 
home months before I intended, to defend a poor 
ragged black rascal that claimed to be my “ vally,” 
and expects to be hanged — and half the county 
believes I came in obedience to Madame Koller.’ ” 
But it occurred to him that he had done a good deal 
to make both Olivia Berkeley and Madame Koller 
believe what was not true about his return. 

He put on his hat and, putting the letter in his 
pocket, went out and mounted his horse and rode 
off at a smart canter away from the village, down a 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


51 


little-used road, until he came to a stretch of pine 
woods. Then, following a bridle path a mile or 
more, he came upon a log house. 

Everything had an air of sylvan peace in the 
quiet autumn afternoon. There was nothing to 
indicate domestic life about the place — the persons 
who lived within had no garden, no fowls — nothing 
but the log cabin under the pines. Pembroke 
knocked loudly with the butt of his riding whip at 
the rude door, but a voice a little way off answered 
him. 

“ Don’t waste your strength on the portcullis of 
the castle. Here I am.” 

Pembroke followed the sound, leading his horse, 
and in a minute or two came upon a man of middle 
age, lying full length on the soft bed of pine 
needles, with a book and a pipe. 

“ This is peaceful,” said Pembroke, after tether- 
ing his horse and seating himself. “ At Malvern it 
is more lonely than peaceful. The house is so 
large and so empty — Miles and I live in one wing 
of it. It wasn’t half a bad thing for you, Cave, 
when the doctors ordered you to the pine woods.” 

Cave nodded. 

“ It’s uncommonly quiet and peaceful, this camp- 
ing out. As I have no other house to go to, since 
mine was burned down, it rather bridges over the 
gulf of appearances to say I am living in a log 
cabin by command of the most mighty Dr. Sam 
Jones.” 

“ And there is no loneliness like that of a half 


52 


THE BERKELEYS 


deserted house,” continued Pembroke, uncon- 
sciously dropping his voice in sympathy with the 
faint woodland murmur around them. “ It seems 
to me at Malvern that I continually hear my 
mother’s voice, and my father’s footstep, and all 
the pleasant family commotion I remember. And 
Elizabeth — Cave, no woman I ever knew suffered 
like my sister — and she was not the woman to 
suffer patiently. Old Keturah tells me that my 
father would have yielded at any time after he 
saw that her heart and life were bound up in 
Waring — but she would not ask him — so while I 
was enjoying myself three thousand miles away, 
and only sad when I came home to Miles, Elizabeth 
and my father were fighting that dreary battle. 
Keturah says that everybody said she was sweetly 
and gently patient, but all night she would walk 
the floor sobbing and weeping, while my father 
below walked his floor. It killed them both.” 

Cave had turned away his head. Who has 
watched one, dearly loved, waste and die for 
another, without knowing all there is of bitterness ? 
And was Pembroke so forgetful ? He was not, 
indeed — but he had begun telling of the things 
which troubled him, and because he could bear to 
speak of poor Elizabeth he thought that Cave 
could bear to hear it. But there was a pause — a 
pause in which Pembroke suddenly felt ashamed 
and heartless. Elizabeth’s death was much to him — 
but it was everything to Cave. So Pembroke con- 
tinued, rather to excuse himself, “Your cabin in 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


53 


the woods is at least not haunted by the dead peo- 
ple you loved. Sometimes, when I go into my 
mother’s room and see everything as she left it — 
the mirror in which I have often seen her braid her 
hair — she had scarcely a gray lock in it when she 
died — I feel — I cannot describe to you what I 
feel.” 

“ You ought to marry,” remarked Cave, in a cold, 
quiet voice. 

“ Not I,” answered Pembroke, carelessly, glad to 
escape from the train he had himself started. “ I 
suppose a man ought to marry some time or other 
— but forty is early enough. I wouldn’t mind 
waiting until I were fifty. At sixty a man is apt to 
make an infernal fool of himself.” 

“ How about Eliza Peyton — or Madame Koller — 
whom you followed here?” 

Pembroke had lighted a cigar since they began 
talking, and had disposed of himself comfortably 
on the pine needles by the side of his friend. The 
silence was the unbroken silence of the autumn 
woods. There was not the faintest whisper of 
wind, but over their heads the solemn trees leaned 
together and rustled softly. A long pause came 
after Cave’s question. Into Pembroke’s sunburnt 
face a dark flush slowly mounted. It is not often 
that a man of his type, with his iron jaw and strong 
features, blushes — but this was a blush of conscious- 
ness, though not of shame. 

“ I did not follow her here,” he said. “ But who 
believes me ? I think the woman herself fancies 


54 


THE BERKELEYS 


I did follow her. As for that little haughty Olivia 
Berkeley, the girl gives me a look that is equivalent 
to a box on the ear every time Madame Koller 
is mentioned. If ever I marry, I shan’t take a 
woman of spirit, you may depend upon it. I shall 
take a placid, stout creature. An eaglet like Oli- 
via Berkeley is well enough for a man to amuse 
himself with — but for steady matrimony give me a 
barnyard fowl.” 

“ God help you,” answered Cave piously. 

“ But what really brought me here — although I 
knew all the time that I ought not to be loitering 
in Europe, and would probably have come any- 
how — was this poor devil, Bob Henry, in jail, 
charged with murdering Hackett, that scalawag 
the Hibbses brought here.” 

At this Cave sat up, full of animation. 

“ I can help the poor fellow, I think,” he said. 
“ I went to see him as soon as they put him in jail 
— a wretched looking object in rags he was, too. 
He seemed to put great faith in you, and I did 
not tell him of some evidence that I have got hold 
of. The fellow’s going to get clear between us, I 
think.” 

Pembroke sat up too, and took the cigar out of 
his mouth. The lawyer’s instinct rose within him, 
and he took to his profession like a pointer to his 
field work. 

“You see, having been away during Hackett’s 
time, I know nothing of his habits or associations 
except from hearsay. Any lawyer in the county 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 55 

could do better for poor Bob Henry than I — in that 
way.” 

“ Hackett, you know, was a Northern man, who 
came down here and bought property during the 
war. He was a rabid Southerner. I distrusted the 
man for that alone. He was related to our friends, 
the Hibbses. I always suspected he had something 
to do with that gang of deserters down by the 
river, and if he was not a spy, then John Cave is a 
fool.” 

“ Well— what else?” 

“ Of course you know about Bob Henry’s buying 
the land of him, and the money he owed him, and 
the fight. The negro, after Hackett had struck 
him and insulted his wife, struck him back with a 
stick. Now the Hibbses, and everybody else for 
that matter, think that blow killed him. You see, 
among the people Hackett had a kind of false 
popularity, as a Northern man who has espoused 
Southern sentiments — a hypocrite, in short. The 
feeling against that poor black wretch was sav- 

yy 

age. 

“ So,” said Pembroke, “ instead of proving that 
the blow did kill Hackett, the jury will want it 
proved that it didn’t kill Hackett.” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ Hackett, I understand, was a convivial soul. 
It can be proved that he mounted his horse, rode 
home, and six hours afterward was walking about. 
It never seemed to occur to these country doctors 
to look for any other injury than the bruise on the 


56 


THE BERKELEYS 


head, when they found him as good as dead next 
morning. I hear, though, that people who passed 
his house at night would often hear shouting and 
carousing. Now, who did that shouting and carous- 
ing? Not the gentlemen in the county, certainly, 
nor anybody else that I can find out. This fits in 
with your account of his associating with deserters. 
I have always had a theory that he received an 
injury that killed him between the time he was 
seen alive and apparently well, and when he was 
found dying in his bed.” 

“ That is precisely what I think — and I have 
a witness, a ragged boy, hereabouts, whom I have 
tried to keep respectable, who heard a great noise 
as of men shouting and drinking at Hackett’s house 
the night of Hackett’s death. The boy was cold 
and hungry, and although he knew he would be 
driven away if caught — for Hackett was a hard- 
hearted villain — yet he sneaked up to the house 
and gazed through the half-drawn curtains at the 
men sitting around the table, fascinated as he says 
by the sight of fire and food. He heard Hackett 
singing and laughing, and he saw the faces, and — 
mark you, — knows the names of those low fel- 
lows, who have never been suspected, and who 
have kept so remarkably quiet. Then, here is the 
point — one of the very men who deserted from my 
company, and was very thick afterward with Hack- 
ett, suddenly disappeared, and within a month 
died of injuries he could give no account of. You 
may depend upon it they had a fight, and it was 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 57 

my former companion in arms that killed the 
worthy Hackett — not poor Bob Henry’s blow.” 

Pembroke’s dark eyes shone. 

“ We’ll keep this to ourselves, and make the 
fellow hold his tongue. We won’t give the desert- 
ers a chance to concoct a plausible lie. They will 
be certain to be at the court house when the trial 
comes off, and when I put them in the witness box 
unprepared — you will see.” 

They talked over the case a half an hour longer 
before Pembroke got up to go. Then he said : 
“Are you going to call at The Beeches? You 
must have known Eliza Roller before she left 
here.” 

“ Know her,” cried Cave, “ yes, I know her. I 
hope she has improved in every other way as much 
as she has in looks. I saw her the other day. It 
seemed to me that her hair was not so violently 
yellow when she went away ; however, I’ll be cau- 
tious, — I see you are badly singed. Little Olivia 
Berkeley wouldn’t do for my lord — ” 

Pembroke got up and flung off in a passion, pur- 
sued by Cave shouting: 

“ I’ll give long odds on the widow ! ” 


58 


THE BERKELEYS 


CHAPTER V. 

A FEW Sundays after that, Mr. Cole’s heart was 
gladdened by the sight of Madame Roller and 
the bundle of cloaks and mufflers she called her 
mamma, walking in church just as the morning 
service was beginning. The little clergyman felt 
inspired. He fancied himself like Paul before the 
Athenians. Olivia Berkeley was there too, and the 
Colonel, who settled himself in his pew to catch 
Mr. Cole in a false syllogism or a misquotation — any- 
thing to chaff the reverend gentleman about during 
the coming week. Mr. Cole did his best. He laid 
aside his manuscript and indulged in an extempore 
address that warmed the orator, if not the congrega- 
tion, with something like eloquence. The Hibbses 
were there too — a florid, well-dressed family, Mr. 
Hibbs making the responses in a basso so much 
louder than Mr. Cole’s mild treble that it seemed 
as if Mr. Hibbs were the parson and Mr. Cole the 
clerk. 

“ I tell you what it is my dear/’ Colonel Berkeley 
had said angrily to his daughter half an hour before 
when the Hibbses swept past them up the flagged 
walk through the churchyard, “ the religion of these 
infernal Hibbs people is what disgusts me most. 
They made their money in the war of 1812. Up 
to then they were shouting Methodists — I’ve heard 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


59 


my father swear it a hundred times — ” The Colonel 
belonged to a class, not uncommon in Virginia, 
who regarded the Episcopal Church as a close cor- 
poration, and resented with great pugnacity any 
attempt to enter it on the part of the great un- 
washed. It was the vehi;le chosen by the first 
families to go to heaven in, and marked “ Re- 
served.” Hence the Colonel’s wrath. His church 
was a church founded by gentlemen, of gentlemen, 
and for gentlemen, and it was a great liberty for 
any other class to seek that aristocratic mode of 
salvation. 

“ Now, damme, the Hibbses are the greatest 
Episcopalians in the parish. I am as good a church- 
man as there is in the county, but begad, if I want 
such a set of vulgarians worshiping under the 
same roof and rubbing elbows with me when I go 
up to the Lord’s table. I think I gave that young 
Hibbs fellow a setback last communion Sunday 
which will prevent him from hustling up to the rail 
before his betters.” 

By which it will be seen that Dashaway’s unlucky 
fiasco and the triumph of the long-legged roan at 
Campdown had not been obliterated from the 
Colonel’s memory. During the sermon, Colonel 
Berkeley only took his eyes off the clergyman once. 
This was when Mr. Hibbs came around with the col- 
lection plate. The object of that day’s collection 
was, as Mr. Cole had feelingly stated, for the conver- 
sion of the higher castes in India. Colonel Berkeley 
thrust both hands in his trousers’ pockets, and sur- 


6o 


THE BERKELEYS 


veyed Mr. Hibbs defiantly as that worthy citizen 
poked the plate at him. This duello between Mr. 
Hibbs and Colonel Berkeley occurred every collec- 
tion Sunday, to the edification of the congregation. 
After holding the plate before the Colonel for a con- 
siderable time, Mr. Hibbs moved off — a time that 
seemed interminable to Olivia, blushing furiously in 
the corner of the pew. 

After church the congregation streamed out, and 
according to the country custom, the people stop- 
ped to talk in the churchyard. Colonel Berkeley 
marched up to Mr. Cole, and put something in his 
hand. 

“ There, Cole,” he remarked, “ I wouldn’t put 
anything in the plate when that ruffian of a vestry- 
man of yours poked it under my nose. But I 
doubled my contribution, and I’ll thank you to put 
it with the rest.” 

“ Certainly, Colonel,” answered Mr. Cole — “ but 
Christian charity — ” 

“ Christian charity be hanged, sir. I’m a Chris- 
tian and a churchman, but I prefer Christian gentle- 
men to Methodist upstarts. Whether I go to 
heaven or the other place either, damme, I propose 
to go in good company.” 

“ This will go to the missionary fund for India, 
Colonel.” 

“Ha! ha! I’d like to see one of you callow 
young clergymen tackle a Brahmin in India. By 
Jove. It would be fun — for the Brahmin ! ” 

Colonel Berkeley had no mind to let Mr. Cole 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


6 1 


monopolize Madam Roller, so just as the clergyman 
stood, hat in hand bowing to her and her mother, 
the Colonel marched up, and by a skillful maneuver 
shoveled the elder lady off on Mr. Cole, while he him- 
self attended the younger one to the carriage. At 
the churchyard gate was Olivia Berkeley talking 
with Mrs. Peyton — and by her side stood French 
Pembroke. Madame Roller smiled charmingly 
at her old acquaintances. She was so sorry Miss 
Berkeley had not been at home the day she 
called. Miss Berkeley was politely regretful. It 
was so sunshiny and delightful that Madame Rol- 
ler would like to walk as far as the main road led 
them toward home — it was only across a field or 
two then, for each of them to reach home. Olivia 
also assented to this. Madame Rollers society 
was far from lacking charm to her — and besides, 
the attraction of repulsion is never stronger than 
between two women who cherish a smoldering 
spark of jealousy. 

Madame Roller wanted the Colonel to come, and 
brought her whole battery of smiles and glances 
into action to compel him — but he got out of it 
with much astuteness. He was no walker, he said. 
Then she turned to French Pembroke. 

“ Good-bye, my dear,” said Mrs. Peyton to Olivia, 
sotto voce . “ Don’t be left at the meeting of the 

ways.” 

“ No, I won’t, I promise you,” replied Olivia. 

Off they started. Madame Roller moved with the 
grace of a fairy in a drawing room, but on a country 
5 


62 


THE BERKELEYS 


road, holding a sunshade in one hand and her gown 
in the other, it was a promenade rather than a 
walk. Olivia walked with the easy step of a girl 
country born and country bred, and albeit it was a 
little more than a saunter, she soon walked Madame 
Roller out of breath. 

Pembroke had but little share in the conversa- 
tion. Except a laughing reference to him occa- 
sionally, he was left out, and had full opportunity to 
compare the two women — which he did with an 
amused smile. Compliments were plenty from 
Madame Roller, which Olivia deftly parried or 
ignored. In a little while the turning was in sight 
where both left the high road, and a path in one 
direction led to Isleham, and in another, gave a 
short cut to The Beeches. Pembroke was begin- 
ning to apprehend an awkward predicament for 
himself as to which one of the ladies he should 
accompany, when Olivia cut the knot. 

“ Here I must leave you — good-bye, Madam Rol- 
ler, I shall see you during the week — good-bye — ” 
to Pembroke. 

“ There is Madame Roller’s carriage in sight,” 
remarked Pembroke, thinking that offered a solu- 
tion of the problem — to which Olivia only responded 
pleasantly — “ Good-bye — good-bye — ” and tripped 
off. 

Madame Roller looked rather foolish — she had 
been outgeneraled completely. 

“ There is your carriage, again said Pembroke, 
this time looking straight at her. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


63 


“Yes. I know it. You will soon be rid of me.” 

As she spoke her eyes filled with real tears of 
mortification. Pembroke was a man, and he could 
not see this, and be as hard as he meant to be. 
Nevertheless, he did not intend to walk through the 
field with Madame Roller. 

“ Come, Elise,” he said. “ The way is too long 
for you. You are no walker. It would be best for 
you to drive home.” 

“ When you call me Elise I will do anything for 
you,” she said — and she was really tired and hated 
walking for walking’s sake. 

The carriage drew up, and Pembroke put her in 
carefully. Old Madame Schmidt said: “That is 
right, Eliza,” and they drove off. 

A few yards hid him from their sight, and at that 
instant he struck out in the path to Isleham. In 
ten minutes he had overtaken Olivia. 

She was surprised to see him. 

“ What have you done with Madame Roller ? ” 

“ Put her in the carriage and sent her home.” 

A faint flush crept into Olivia’s cheeks. 

“ I have wanted to ask you something for a week 
or two,” she said, “ but this is my first opportunity. 
You know that poor negro, Bob Henry, who is to 
be tried for murder — I believe he belonged to you, 
didn’t he?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ His wife was my maid when I was a child. Yes- 
terday she came to see me — just out of her bed 
from a long fever. She is naturally in great trouble 


6 4 


THE BERKELEYS 


about her husband, whom she has not seen, the jail 
being too far off. She has heard something about 
your defending him when he is tried, and she 
begged me to see you, and ask you as a mercy to 
them, to ‘ try him,’ as she says.” 

“ That is what brought me back to America,” 
he replied. 

Olivia said not a word, but walked on. She could 
not but believe him — but if he had not come on 
Madame Koller’s account, Madame Koller might 
have come on his account. 

“ I have done, and I am doing, the best I can for 
the poor fellow. Cave has helped me much.” 

Then it occurred to Olivia that at least Pembroke 
ought to get the credit for coming on such an 
errand. 

“ How kind it was of you,” she said. “ I am so 
glad—” 

“To find I am not such a scamp as you thought 
me ? ” he said, good-naturedly. 

“ Have it any way you like,” she replied. “ But 
I am very glad, and Jane will be very glad, and I’m 
sure Bob Henry is — and you may come home with 
me and have some luncheon, and papa will be very 
glad — he hates Sunday afternoons in the country.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


65 


CHAPTER* VI. 

Meanwhile poor Mr. Ahlberg, condemned to 
the solitude of the village tavern, varied by daily 
visits to The Beeches and occasional ones to his 
acquaintances, the Pembrokes and the Berkeleys, 
found life tedious. He wanted to get away, but 
Madame Roller would not let him. Mr. Ahlberg 
had now, for some years, had an eye to Madame 
Roller’s fortune. Therefore, when she commanded 
him to stay, he stayed. He regarded her infatua- 
tion for Pembroke as a kind of temporary insanity, 
which would in time be cured, and that he would 
be the physician and would marry his patient 
afterward. 

As for Madame Roller, she was wretched, anx- 
ious, everything but bored. That she was not — 
she was too miserable. Like Ahlberg, she thought 
herself almost a lunatic. Hers was not the folly of 
a guileless girl, but the deep-seated and unspeak- 
able folly of a matured woman. When M. Roller 
died she had regarded herself as one of the most 
fortunate women in the world. Still young, rich, 
pretty, what more could she ask ? The world had 
almost forgotten, if it ever knew, that she had had a 
stage career, when stage careers were not the most 
desirable things in the world. She had done her 
duty as well as she knew it by the dead and gone 


66 


THE BERKELEYS 


Roller, who, in consideration of leaving her a com- 
fortable fortune, had made her life a torment upon 
earth. Just when she was preparing to enjoy her 
liberty she had found herself enslaved by her own 
act as it were. Sometimes she asked herself con- 
temptuously what Pembroke could give her if she 
married him, in exchange for liberty which she 
prized, and answered herself with the wisdom of 
the world. Again she reasoned with herself and 
got for answer the wildest folly a girl of sixteen 
could imagine. With him was everything — with- 
out him was nothing. And his indifference piqued 
her. She truly believed him quite callous to any 
woman, and she had often heard him say that he 
had no intention of marrying. Pembroke, returning 
to the life of a country gentleman after four years’ 
campaigning, followed by a time of thoughtless 
pleasure, mixed with the pain of defeat, of the 
misery of seeing Miles forever wretched, broken 
in fortune, though not in spirit, found Madame 
Roller’s society quite fascinating enough. But he 
was not so far gone that he did not see the abyss 
before him. On the one hand was money and 
luxury and pleasure and idleness and Madame 
Roller, with her blonde hair and her studied 
graces and her dramatic singing — and on the other 
was work and perhaps poverty, and a dull provin- 
cial existence. But then he would be a man — and 
if he married Madame Roller he would not be a 
man. It is no man’s part to live solely for any 
woman, and nobody knew that better than French 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


6 / 


Pembroke. Of course, he knew that he could 
marry her — the love-making, such as it was, had 
been chiefly on the lady’s part. He was angry be- 
yond measure with her when she appeared upon the 
scene. He wished to try life without Madame Rol- 
ler. But when she came she certainly drew him 
often to The Beeches. There was but one other 
woman in the county who really interested him. 
This was Olivia Berkeley, and she was uncertain 
and hard to please. It was undeniably pleasant to 
ride over to The Beeches on winter afternoons and 
find Madame Roller in a cosy sitting room before 
a wood fire, and to have her read to him and sing 
to him. Sometimes he wondered how he ever 
came away unpledged. Again, he faintly blamed 
himself for going — but if he remained away Mad- 
ame Roller sent for him and reproached him bit- 
terly. She knew quite as much of the world as he 
did — and he was no mean proficient — and was two 
or three years older than he besides. But it was an 
unsatisfactory existence to him. He felt when he 
went from Madame Roller’s presence into Olivia’s 
like going from a ball room out into the clear 
moonlit night. To be on his guard always against 
a woman, to try and make the best of an anom- 
alous condition, was offensive to his naturally 
straightforward mind. It relieved him to be with 
Olivia, even though occasionally she treated him 
cavalierly. This last he positively relished as a 
luxury. 

Ahlberg he hated. Yet they were scrupulously 


68 


THE BERKELEYS 


polite to each other, and Ahlberg occasionally 
dined with him at Malvern. 

One day he met Ahlberg in the road near the 
village. Ahlberg had a gun and a full game-bag 
slung over his shoulder. 

“ You have had good luck,” said Pembroke. 

“ Very,” answered Ahlberg, with his peculiar 
smile. “ I saw nothing to shoot, but I met two 
blacks, and for a trifle I bought all this. I am not 
a sportsman like you. I go for a walk — I take my 
gun. I want a few birds for an entree. It matters 
very little where I get them.” 

“ What we call a pot hunter,” remarked Pem- 
broke, laughing at what he considered great sim- 
plicity on Ahlberg’s part. For his own part, his 
instincts of sport made him consider Ahlberg’s 
method of securing an entree as but little better 
than sheep stealing. Ahlberg did not quite take 
in what manner of sport pot hunting was, nor the 
contumely visited upon a pot hunter, and so was 
not offended. 

“ Will you not come to The Beeches to-morrow 
evening and dine with us on these birds ? ” he asked. 
“ This is my party, not Elise’s, who is ill with a dis- 
tressing cold. I have asked the Reverend Cole too, 
and Hibbs and some others, and we will have a 
“ jollitime ” as you Americans and English say.” 

Pembroke agreed, he scarcely knew why, partic- 
ularly as he seldom dined at The Beeches, and 
never before at Ahlberg’s invitation. 

Next* evening therefore with Mr. Cole and Mr. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


69 


Hibbs and young Peyton and two or three others 
Pembroke found himself in the great, gloomy din- 
ing room at The Beeches. Neither Madame Koller 
nor Madame Schmidt were present. The cold was 
a real cold. Madame Koller was on the sofa in her 
sitting room, and if she felt strong enough, sent 
word to the guests she would see them in the 
drawing room later on. The round table though, 
in the middle of the room, looked cheerful enough, 
and on the sideboard was an array of long-necked 
bottles such as Pembroke had never seen for so 
small a party. 

Ahlberg was an accomplished diner out — but that 
is something different from a good diner at home. 
He was graceful and attentive, but he lacked alto- 
gether the Anglo-Saxon good fellowship. He 
tucked a napkin under his chin, discussed m£nus 
with much gravity, and referred too often to Hans, 
a nondescript person whom Madame Koller had 
brought from Vienna, and who was cook, butler, 
major-domo and valet in one — and highly accom- 
plished in all. Pembroke was rather disgusted with 
too much conversation of this sort : 

“ Hans, you are too pronounced with your 
truffles. There should be a hint — a mere suspi- 
cion — ” 

“ Yes, monsieur. But madame likes truffles. 
Every day it is ‘ Hans, you are too sparing of your 
truffles.’ ” 

“ This salmi is really charming. Hans, I shall 
put it down in my note book.” 


70 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ I can give monsieur admirable salmis of pigeons 
as well as duck.” 

Pembroke, impelled by a spirit of perverseness, 
declined everything Ahlberg and Hans united in 
praising, and confined himself solely to port, a 
wine he did not much care for, and which both 
Ahlberg and Hans reprobated in the strongest 
terms. 

Not so Mr. Cole. He went religiously through 
the m£nu, praising and exclaiming, and keeping up 
a fusillade of compliments like the chorus in a 
Greek play. Nor did he forget the long-necked 
bottles. At first he positively declined anything 
but claret. But obeying a look from Ahlberg, 
Hans filled the clergyman’s glass with champagne. 
Mr. Cole laughed and blushed, but on being good 
naturedly rallied by his companions, especially Mr. 
Hibbs, he consented to one — only one glass. But 
this was followed by a second, poured out when 
Mr. Cole was looking another way — and presently 
as Hans by degrees slyly filled the half dozen wine 
glasses at his plate, Mr. Cole began with an air of 
perfect unconsciousness to taste them all. Soon 
his face flushed, and by the time the dinner was 
half over, Mr. Cole was half over the line of modera- 
tion too. He became convivial, and even affection- 
ate. Pembroke, who had looked on the little 
clergyman’s first glass of champagne with a smile, 
began to feel sorry for him, and a very profound 
contempt for his entertainer. Hans and his 
pseudo-master evidently understood each other, and 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


71 

exchanged glances oftener than master and man 
usually do. As the clergyman became more free in 
his talk, Ahlberg looked at Pembroke with a foxy 
smile, but received only a cool stare in return. 
Pembroke was a jolly companion enough, but this 
deliberately making a gentleman, weak as he might 
be, but still a gentleman, drunk in a woman’s house 
struck him as not the most amusing thing in the 
world. Ahlberg, however, seemed to enjoy the 
state of affairs, and though he had no sympathy 
from Pembroke or young Peyton, Mr. Hibbs and 
one or two others appreciated it highly. 

“ Ah, Mr. Cole,” he cried, “ you know how to 
dine, I see you do. You would not discredit the 
Trois Freres itself. Hans, more Chablis.” 

Poor Cole’s eyes twinkled. He loved to be 
thought a man of the world. 

“ Couldn’t you give us a song, Mr. Cole ? ” con- 
tinued Ahlberg, laughing, “ English and American 
fashion, you know. Something about wine and 
mirth.” 

Mr. Cole smiled coquettishly, and cleared his 
throat. 

“ Perhaps I might try ‘ The Heart Bowed Down 
With Weight of Woe,’ ” said he. 

“ Yes — yes — ” 

“Or, ‘ Then You’ll Remember Me.’ That’s more 
sentimental — more suited for the occasion.” 

“ ‘ Then You’ll Remember Me,’ by all means. 
Gentlemen, a chorus.” 

Mr. Cole, placing his hand upon his heart, after 


72 


THE BERKELEYS 


having drained another glass of champagne, began 
in a weak and rather shaky voice, 

“ * When other lips and other hearts 
Their tales of love shall tell. ’ 

" Gentlemen, I’m not in good voice to-night. 

“ * In language whose excess imparts 
The power they feel so well ; 

When hollow hearts shall wear a mask,’ 

“ Here, Hans, old boy, I’ll take another glass of 
Chablis — 

** * ’Twill break your own to see, 

In such a moment I but a — a — a — sk 
That you’ll remember me.’ ” 

Here a tremendous chorus, led by Mr. Ahlberg, 
broke in, accompanied with much pounding on the 
table, and a rhythmic jingling of glasses : 

“ Then you'll remember me, boys, 

Then you’ll remember me.” 

Mr. Cole, very much annoyed and preposterously 
dignified, began to protest. 

“ Gentlemen — er — beloved brethren, I mean gen- 
tlemen, this song is a sentimental one — a senti- 
mental song, d’ye hear — and does not admit of a 
convivial chorus. Now, I’ll give you the last verse 
over.” 

Mr. Cole, looking lackadaisically at the ceiling, 
began again. When he reached the last line, again 
an uproarious chorus took the words out of his 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


73 


mouth. He rose, and steadying himself on his feet, 
implored silence in pantomime. In vain. Ahlberg 
and Hibbs with shouts and yells of laughter car- 
ried the chorus through. Pembroke could not but 
laugh, but he said to the little clergyman, in a tone 
subdued but authoritative : 

“ Sit down, Cole.” 

Mr. Cole glanced fiercely at him. “ Were it 
not for my cloth, sir, you — you’d — receive per- 
sonal chastisement for that remark,” he responded 
angrily ; but comparing his own slender figure with 
Pembroke’s length and strength, he plaintively con- 
tinued : 

“ But I’m afraid you could lick me, Pembroke. 
You always did at school, you know.” 

Pembroke made no reply. He was no anchorite. 
He had sometimes found amusement in low com- 
pany in low places — but low company in better 
places disgusted him. Besides, Cole was an honest 
little fellow, and not half such a fool as he appeared 
— and he had a conscience, and Pembroke began 
to feel sorry already for the pain poor Cole would 
have to endure. 

But Cole was not the only subject of amusement. 
Ahlberg, now that his dinner was over, considered 
conversation in order — and began to give his views 
on things in general, upon which young Hibbs and 
young Peyton and the others hung with delight. 
Pembroke therefore thinking it well to get Cole out 
of the way while he could yet walk, suggested that 
he should escape for a breath of fresh air — to which 


74 


THE BERKELEYS 


Cole assented, and might have slipped out un- 
noticed, but for his assumption of a lofty stride, 
which would have landed him on the floor but for 
a timely arm from Hans. 

The fun grew fast and furious, and everybody at 
the table was flushed except Ahlberg and Pem- 
broke. Ahlberg drank as much as anybody, but 
his delicate hand was as steady, and his cold blue 
eyes as clear as if it had been water from the well 
he was drinking. Pembroke did not drink much 
and remained cool and smiling. 

After an hour or two had passed, he began to 
be intensely bored by Mr. Hibbs’ songs, who now 
became the minstrel, Ahlberg’s long stories and 
young Peyton’s jokes — and besides he wondered at 
Mr. Cole’s absence. So in the midst of a lively dis- 
cussion, he quietly left his seat and went out. 

In the hall several doors opened — but from the 
drawing room door came a flood of light, and 
voices. He heard Madame Koller’s somewhat 
shrill tones saying: 

“ But Mr. Cole, I cannot marry you — fancy 
me — ” 

“ Darling Eliza,” cried Mr. Cole, in a maudlin, 
tipsy voice. “ I know you love me. Your par- 
tiality — ” 

Pembroke made two strides to the door. Just 
as he reached it, he saw a tableau. Mr. Cole, whose 
head just reached to Madame Koller’s shoulder, 
had seized her by the waist and was saying : 

“ One kiss — only one, my darling ! ” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


7 5 


Madame Koller raised her hand — it was large 
and strong and white — and brought it down upon 
the clergyman’s cheek with a thundering whack 
that would have knocked him down, but for an- 
other slap she administered on the other side. 
Pembroke had not been in time to save him, but 
he caught Cole by the collar, and picking him up 
as if he had been a baby, set him out of the way. 

Madame Koller was raging. She stamped her 
foot and clinched her hands and ground her teeth 
with passion. 

“ Come, Madame Koller,” said Pembroke, sternly, 
“ there is no occasion for this sort of thing. The lit- 
tle fool is tipsy — of course you see it. You ought 
not to have had anything to say to him.” 

But Madame Koller would not be pacified. It 
was not the liberty he had tried to take which most 
infuriated her, she inadvertently declared, but the 
idea that she, Elise Koller, would marry a country 
parson. She raved. What ! She, Elise Koller, 
born a Peyton, should condescend to that ridicu- 
lous person ? What would her aunt, Sally Peyton, 
say to it ? What would the shade of the departed 
Koller say to it ? She had been civil to him, and 
forsooth, he had come, like a thief in the night, and 
proposed to marry her — her, who might have mar- 
ried a duke — a prince — anybody. Madame Koller 
was very mad, and used just the extravagant and 
hysterical language that people of her type do 
sometimes. 

As for Mr. Cole, those two slaps had sobered him 


;6 


THE BERKELEYS 


as instantly and as completely as anything could. 
He sat bolt upright on the sofa, while Pembroke 
with a half smile of contempt in his face that really 
exasperated Madame Koller more than poor Cole 
had done, listened to her tirade. What a virago 
the woman was, to be sure. But how handsome 
she was too ! 

“ Pembroke,” said poor Cole, rising and coming 
forward, looking quite pale and desperate, “ don’t 
try to excuse me. I don’t deserve any excuse. I 
mean to write to the bishop to-morrow and make a 
clean breast of it — and any punishment he may 
inflict, or any mortification I may have to endure 
because of this, I’ll take like a man. Madame 
Koller, I humbly ask your pardon. I hardly knew 
what I was doing.” 

“To get drunk in my house,” was Madame 
Roller’s reply. 

“ Hardly that,” said Pembroke, quietly. “ Made 
drunk by your precious cousin, Ahlberg.” 

“ I’ll send Louis away if you desire me,” cried 
Madame Koller, eagerly. 

“ I desire nothing of the kind. It is no affair of 
mine. Come, Cole, you’ve done the best you could 
by apologizing. I’ll see that those fellows say noth- 
ing about it. Good evening, Madame Koller.” 

“ Must you go, Pembroke — now — ” 

“ Immediately. Good-bye,” and in two minutes 
he and Cole were out of the house. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


77 


CHAPTER VII. 

To say that Pembroke was angry with Cole is 
hardly putting it strong enough. He ardently 
longed that he might once again inflict a thrashing 
upon him like those Cole had been wont to receive 
in his school days. He had taken the little clergy- 
man to Malvern, and kept him a day or two before 
sending him home to his mother. Cole’s remorse 
was pitiful. He wanted to write to the whole House 
of Bishops, to make a public reparation, to do a 
number of quixotic things which Pembroke’s strong 
sense forbade peremptorily. When after two days 
of sincere, but vociferous penitence, Mr. Cole was 
at last sent back to his rectory, he went under strict 
instructions from Pembroke to keep his misfortune 
to himself. But alas for poor Cole ! What stung 
him most was that Madame Roller should have 
seen him in that condition — for the two hard slaps 
that she had given him had by no means cured his 
infatuation. On the contrary, her strong nerves, her 
fierce temper, her very recklessness of convention- 
ality, irresistibly attracted his timid and conserva- 
tive nature. What had offended Pembroke, who 
looked for a certain feminine restraint in all women, 
and gentleness, even in daring, had charmed Cole. 
His anguish, when he found, that in addition to 
his paroxysm of shame, he suffered tortures because 


78 


THE BERKELEYS 


he could no longer see Madame Koller, almost 
frightened him into convulsions. 

Pembroke had meant to be very prudent with Ahl- 
berg, and particularly to avoid anything like a dis- 
pute. He felt that the natural antagonism between 
them would be likely to produce a quarrel unless 
he were remarkably careful, and as he regarded 
Ahlberg with great contempt, he had a firm deter- 
mination never to give him either cause or chance 
of offense. According to the tradition in which he 
had been raised, a quarrel between two men was 
liable to but one outcome — an archaic one, it is 
true, but one which made men extremely cautious 
and careful not to offend. If a blow once passed it 
became a tragedy. Pembroke promised himself 
prudence, knowing that he had not the coolest 
temper in the world. But when, some days after 
the dinner, they met, this time in the road also, and 
Ahlberg’s first remark was “ What capital fun we 
had with our friend Cole ! ” Pembroke’s temper 
instantly got the better of him. 

“ Mr. Ahlberg, do you think it quite a gentle- 
manly thing to invite a man like Cole to accept 
your hospitality in a woman’s house, and then 
deliberately to make him drunk ? ” asked he. 

Ahlberg’s sallow skin grew a little paler. 

“ Is that your view ? ” he asked, coolly. “ I 
understand something occurred with Madame Kol- 
ler, which you naturally resent.” 

As Ahlberg’s face grew whiter, Pembroke’s grew 
redder. He felt that first savage impulse to seize 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


79 


Ahlberg and shake him as a mastiff would a terrier. 
He stood still for a moment or two and then step- 
ping up close to Ahlberg, said to him : “ You are 
a scoundrel.” 

Ahlberg grew perfectly rigid. This blunt, Anglo- 
Saxon way of picking a quarrel amazed him. He 
brought his heels together, and stood up very erect, 
in the first position of dancing, and said : 

“ This is most extraordinary. Does Monsieur 
know that but one result can follow this ? ” 

“ Anything you please,” answered Pembroke, 
carelessly, “ but if you force me to fight I will cer- 
tainly kill you. You know something of my pistol 
practice.” 

Ahlberg hesitated a moment, and then drawing 
up his sleeve, exposed a great red knot on his right 
arm. 

“If I desired to take advantage of you I might 
say that you knew my pistol arm was disabled. I 
got this six months ago — and it will be six months 
more before it is well. The paralysis is still partial. 
But as soon as I can trust it, you will hear from 
me.” 

“ By all means,” answered Pembroke. 

Then they touched their hats ceremoniously, 
and went their way, Pembroke plunging through 
the brushwood on the side of the road with his dog 
at his heels. 

Pembroke never despised himself more than at 
that moment. Here was he involved in a quar- 
rel with a man for whom he felt a thorough con- 


8o 


THE BERKELEYS 


tempt in every respect, and against which he had 
particularly warned himself. 

As to the method of settling the trouble proposed, 
that his own good sense condemned, albeit it was 
still in vogue in Virginia. In the heat of anger he 
had promised Ahlberg to kill him — while he, Pem- 
broke, knew in his heart, that certainly nothing Ahl- 
berg could say or do, would make him deliberately 
carry out any such intention. But the folly, wicked- 
ness, petulance, want of self-command that brought 
the quarrel about, enraged him more with himself 
than with Ahlberg. He could imagine Cave’s cool 
and cutting disapproval — Colonel Berkeley’s uproar- 
ious and vociferous protest. He knew his own folly 
in the case so well, that he fancied everybody else 
must know it too. At all events, the trouble was 
postponed, and he felt prepared to do a great deal, 
even to the extent of apologizing to Ahlberg, rather 
than fight him. And then Elise. What a creature 
she was to be sure — singing to him to charm him, 
and declaiming poetry like the tragic muse — and 
then that scene with Cole, at which the recollection 
even made him shudder and. laugh too. Why 
couldn’t he fall thoroughly in love with Olivia Berke- 
ley? Probably she would refuse him tartly, but at 
least it would rid him of Madame Koller, and it 
would be a bracing, healthy experience. He had half 
a mind to go back and suggest to Ahlberg that they 
observe their usual terms toward each other until 
the time came that Ahlberg might demand satis- 
faction. A strained demeanor would be peculiarly 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


8l 


unpleasant, considering the way the people at The 
Beeches and the Berkeleys and Miles and himself 
were associated. But he reflected that Ahlberg 
was a man of the world, and would probably let 
things go on smoothly, anyhow. It turned out he 
was correct, as the next time they met, Ahlberg’s 
manner was imperturbable, and the cold politeness 
which had always existed between the two men 
was not visibly changed. 

Walking along, and cutting viciously with his 
stick at the harmless bushes in the path on this par- 
ticular day, he soon found himself near the fence 
that ran around the lawn at Isleham. He con- 
cluded he would go in and see the Berkeleys for half 
an hour. It would be a refreshing change from 
Madame Koller and Ahlberg to Olivia’s pure, bright 
face and the Colonel’s jovial, wholesome chaff. It 
was a mild, spring-like day in early winter. The 
path led to the lawn through the old-fashioned gar- 
den, where everything was brown and sere except 
the box hedge that stiffly bordered the straight, 
broad path that led through the garden. He re- 
membered having heard Miles at breakfast say 
something about going over to Isleham, and was 
therefore not surprised to see him walking up and 
down the path with Olivia. She had a book in her 
hand and was reading in her low, clear voice, aloud 
to him as they walked slowly, and Miles was fol- 
lowing what she read closely, occasionally stopping 
to ask a question and looking quite cheerful and 
interested. It came back to him that Miles had 


82 


THE BERKELEYS 


spoken of Olivia and himself taking up Italian 
together. From her manner, and from the expres- 
sion on her charming face in its little black velvet 
hood, he saw she was doing it for Miles’ sake. 
He loved that younger brother as well as one 
human being ever loved another. To have saved 
the boy one pang he would have done much — but 
he could do so little ! Miles was no longer fit for 
field sports, society he shunned, reading he could 
do for himself. Pembroke felt every day the mas- 
culine inability to console. Yet here was this girl 
who had found something to interest poor little 
Miles, and was doing it with the sweetest womanli- 
ness in the world. She probably cared nothing for 
Italian, but Miles was fond of it. 

“ Wait,” said Olivia, with authority, as he came 
up. “ Don’t speak a word. I must let you see 
how well I can read this,” and she read a stanza 
correctly enough. 

“ That will do,” remarked Pembroke, who knew 
something of Italian, “ you were wise to choose that 
Francesca da Rimini story though. It is the easiest 
part in the whole book.” 

Olivia slammed the volume together indignantly, 
and drew down her pretty brows in a frown. 

“ You and papa are always laughing at us. Never 
mind Miles, / don’t mind them I assure you.” 

Pembroke went in and remained to luncheon, as 
did Miles. The Colonel was in great spirits. He 
had had a brush on the road with Mrs. Peyton, and 
had been over to The Beeches. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


83 


“ And by the way, Pembroke, what’s this I hear 
about poor Cole getting as tight as Bacchus the 
other night at The Beeches ? ” 

“ Nothing at all,” answered Pembroke. He did 
not mean to say anything about Ahlberg’s share 
in it, considering the relations between them, but 
the Colonel was too sharp for him. 

“ Now, Cole wouldn’t go and do a thing like that 
unless he was put up to it. Didn’t our friend 
with the waxed mustache have something to do 
with it, eh? Oh, yes, I see he did.” 

Pembroke smiled at the way Colonel Berkeley 
read his face. Olivia spoke up with spirit. 

“ Papa, I hate that Mr. Ahlberg. Pray don’t 
have him here any more.” 

But the Colonel looked quite crestfallen at this. 
Ahlberg amused him, and life was very, very dull 
for him. 

“ I hope you won’t insist on that, my dear,” he 
said, and Olivia answered : 

“ I can’t when you look that way.” 

Much relieved, the Colonel began again. “And 
Madame Roller, I hear — ha ! ha ! ” 

“ Papa ! ” 

The note of dreadful warning in Olivia’s voice 
vexed Pembroke. But he could not explain and 
she would not understand. 

Afterward, the two brothers walking along 
briskly toward home, Miles said : 

“ Do you know I believe Ahlberg is making love 
to Olivia on the sly ! ” 


8 4 


THE BERKELEYS 


Pembroke felt an infinite disgust at this — Ahlberg 
with his waxed mustache, and his napkin tucked 
in his waistcoat, and his salmis and his truffles, 
making love to Olivia Berkeley ! 

“ He doesn’t want Madame Roller to know it, 
though, I’ll warrant,” continued Miles. “ Anybody 
can see his game there.” 

“ If he asks Olivia to marry him there will be 
another ear-boxing episode in this neighborhood,” 
said Pembroke with a short laugh. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


85 


CHAPTER VIII. 

POOR Bob Henry, shut up in the county jail, 
had indeed said aright when he wrote Pembroke 
that both blacks and whites were “ agin him.” 
Pembroke could scarcely find one of the negro 
race to testify to Bob Henry’s previous good char- 
acter — and as he sifted his own evidence and sur- 
mised the State’s, he saw that but for the witness 
Cave had ferreted out, things would indeed have 
looked black for Bob Plenry. At that time the 
apprehension as to the way the negroes in their 
freedom would behave toward the whites was as 
yet sinister, and the Hibbses, whose relative the 
dead man was, worked up the feeling against his 
supposed murderer with considerable astuteness. 
They were among the largest subscribers to Mr. 
Cole’s salary, and as such they gave their views 
freely to Mr. Cole upon the impropriety of his going 
to see Bob Henry in jail, and exerting himself to 
stem the tide against him among the black people. 

Mr. Cole’s fair little face flushed up at this criti- 
cism delivered from old Mr. Hibbs in a loud and 
dictatorial voice on the court house green before a 
crowd of persons. 

“ Mr. Hibbs — I — I — am a minister of the gospel, 
sir, and my duty is to condole with the afflicted, sir, 
— and — however sir, — whatever may be your opinion 


86 


THE BERKELEYS 


of that poor wretch in the jail yonder, and however 
it may conduce to — to — unpopularity, I shall con- 
tinue to visit him. I have sympathy with the err- 
ing,” he said, remembering that terrible evening at 
The Beeches. 

A heavy hand descended upon Mr. Cole’s shoul- 
der, and Colonel Berkeley’s handsome face shone at 
him. 

“ Right you are, Cole. You’re a little prig some- 
times, but you are something of a man, sir — some- 
thing of a man ! ” 

Mr. Cole blushed with pleasure at this dubious 
compliment. 

Olivia Berkeley’s heart was touched with pity 
for the unfortunate negro. His ailing wife came 
every day to tell the same rambling and piteous 
story. Besides, Cave had been at work with her — 
and he had great power with young imaginations. 
Pembroke felt a certain anxiety about the case. It 
was one of those which gave room, for the sympa- 
thetic oratory which in the country districts in the 
South yet obtains. He felt at first that if he could 
make the jury weep, his success as a lawyer would 
be assured and immediate. But if he failed it would 
mean long years of toil at his profession to gain that 
which by a happy inspiration he could win at a 
single coup. He worked hard, and prepared him- 
self — not solely for oratory, because the Hibbses 
had not only engaged a formidable array of local 
talent, but had got one, if not two great men from 
afar, and the attorney-general himself, to help the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 87 

state. Pembroke went to Cave despondent and 
nervous about this. 

“ It is the best thing in the world for you,” 
answered Cave. “ Don’t you see, the prosecution 
has taken the form of a persecution ? And the 
bringing in of outside talent is the greatest luck I 
ever heard of. The jury, if I know anything of 
human nature, will not try the prisoner according 
to the law and the evidence. They will try you 
and the lawyers from elsewhere — with a strong pre- 
disposition in favor of their own county man. It 
will go hard with them if they can’t find some way 
to discount the outsiders. Of course, I don’t say 
that this feeling will be immediately developed, but 
it will come out just as certainly as arithmetical 
progression.” 

“ I hope so,” Pembroke answered devoutly. 

The day of the trial came — a sunshiny one in 
midwinter. Every man in the county turned out. 
Nothing delights a rural Virginian so much as a 
forensic argument. He will ride twenty miles to 
hear it, and sit it out, in cold, or heat, or wet, or 
misery, or anything. Then, besides the interest 
naturally attaching to the case, was the curiosity 
to see and hear Pembroke. He had not added to 
his popularity by his absence after the war — and 
Madame Koller had been a millstone around his 
neck latterly. His father and his grandfather and 
his great-grandfather had been great lawyers before 
him — indeed there was no tradition or history 
which went back to the time when there had not 


88 


THE BERKELEYS 


been a Pembroke practicing successfully at the bar 
in the county. So while there was a current of 
disapproval against him, there was a strong under- 
current of local sympathy in his favor also. 

Pembroke appeared early on the ground that 
morning, with Miles. It was his first opportunity 
except at the Campdown races to meet the county 
people of all classes generally. He went about 
among them cool, affable, and smiling. 

“ Oyez, oyez, oyez ! ” the sheriff’s loud voice 
rang out from the court house steps — and the 
crowd poured into the old brick building, and Pem- 
broke, slipping in by another way entered upon 
the strain which lasted for five days and nights. 

Great as the crowd was at first, it increased every 
day. Within two hours of the swearing in of the 
jury, just what Cave had predicted came to pass. 
The prosecution saw that the jury was on the side 
of a Pembroke — the Pembrokes had alw r ays been 
prime favorites with juries in that county, and the 
present one was no exception. Naturally, this 
nettled the attorney-general and the other great 
men who appeared for the State. It was certainly an 
exasperating thing to come so far to find twelve men 
obstinately bent on seeing things from the point of 
view of a handsome, plausible young advocate. 
The court, however, was all that could be desired. 
The attorney general expressed his belief to his 
colleagues that if French Pembroke relied upon an 
eloquent speech, and the precedent of a Pembroke 
always carrying the winning colors in a jury trial, 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


89 


he would be mistaken — because Judge Randolph, 
silent and grim, looked keenly after the law. It 
was, as Pembroke knew, no easy undertaking to face 
the array of lawyers before him. Like them, he 
was shrewd enough to see that it would be a poor 
triumph to obtain a verdict that would not stand. 
Bob Henry became to him merely an incident. 
He looked day after day, during the trial, at the 
negro’s ashy, scared face in the prisoner’s dock, and 
sometimes felt a kind of wonder that a creature 
so ignorant and so inconsequential could be of 
such tremendous importance to any human being. 
For Bob Henry took up Pembroke’s mind, his soul, 
his nights, his days. He worked all day for him, 
the tension never weakening from the time he 
entered the court room in the morning, until by 
the light of sputtering candles he saw Bob Henry 
walked off in the sheriff’s custody at night. Then 
Pembroke would go to his little office, and lighting 
his lamp, begin work on his books and his notes. 
Even Cave and Miles were unwelcome then. He 
was engaged in a fierce intellectual struggle that 
he must fight out for himself. He had meant in 
the beginning to keep himself in condition, but he 
found out that it was one of the times when the 
soul triumphs over the body. He would throw 
himself on the lounge'in his office toward daylight 
and snatch three or four hours of heavy and dream- 
less sleep, and then wake up with his faculties as 
keen and tireless as if he had slept for a week. He 
did not grow haggard and wild-eyed as men some- 


90 


THE BERKELEYS 


times do under these excitements. He was pale, 
but singularly self-possessed and alert, and looked 
invariably trim and composed. He forgot every- 
thing in those days but the negro he was trying to 
save from the gallows. The lawyers who opposed 
him pounded him unmercifully. They too, caught 
the infection of enthusiasm. It would be scandal- 
ous to be beaten by an untried hand in such a case 
as that, with such admirable fighting ground as 
they had. 

One afternoon, when the court adjourned early 
on account of a slight illness of one of the jurors, 
Pembroke mounted his horse and rode off far into 
the woodlands. When he was out of sight of the 
village he put spurs to his horse and dashed along 
the country road. It did him good. He felt 
already as if he had gained strength enough to last 
him even at the rate he was using it up if the trial 
should last two weeks more. Presently he brought 
his horse down to a walk, and enjoyed the strange 
restfulness and strength he felt possessing him. 
Suddenly he came face to face with Olivia Berkeley, 
riding quietly along the same road. 

It would be no exaggeration to say he had for- 
gotten her existence. He had not thought once of 
her or of Madame Roller, or Ahlberg, anybody but 
Bob Henry. It had not been ten days since he 
had seen her, but he felt as if it had been ten years. 
She looked very pretty and Amazon-like on her 
light-built black, in her close habit. 

“ Papa tells me great things of you,” she said. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


91 


after the first greeting. “ He is up, storming and 
swearing for breakfast by sunrise, so as to be at the 
court-house by nine o’clock. I never expected to 
see him so happy again in dear old Virginia. It is 
some excitement for him. As for Jane, she is be- 
ginning to think Bob Henry a martyr and a hero 
combined.” 

Pembroke smiled. It was not the first praise 
that had reached his ears, but the first that he had 
heeded. He had quite lost sight in the last few 
extraordinary days of any outside view of what he 
was doing — but praise from a pretty woman — 
especially praise so obviously sincere, is dear to 
man’s heart. 

“ I am sorry the Colonel should be so uproarious 
in consequence of the trial.” 

“ He is, I assure you. But I — I — too, feel very 
great interest in your success. How much more 
noble this is than dawdling on the continent ! You 
will not get any money by it, but think — the whole 
county will admire and applaud you — and think of 
those two poor black creatures.” 

V “ You are crediting me with more than I 
deserve,” he said, finding it difficult to explain that 
what he was doing had long passed out of the region 
of a desire -for applause, and indeed, of the feeling 
of compassion which had once inspired him. Now 
it was the overpowering intellectual and natural 
bent that was having its own way. Pembroke had 
been born a lawyer, although he did not suspect it. 

In taking his thoughts back to that remote period 


92 


THE BERKELEYS 


before the trial begun, Olivia had brought Madame 
Koller to mind. 

“Have you seen Elise — Madame Koller — lately?” 
The first name slipped out involuntarily. He 
rarely called Madame Koller by it at any time — but 
now, by one of those tricks which memory serves 
all people, her name came to his lips not only 
without his will, but against it. His face turned a 
deep red, and he bit his lip in anger and vexation. 
Olivia straightened herself up on her horse and 
smiled at him that peculiar indulgent smile, and 
addressed him in those gentle tones that betokened 
the freezing up of her sympathies and the coming 
to life of her contempt. He knew only too well 
the meaning of that appalling sweetness. “No, I 
have not. But to-morrow I will probably see her. 
Shall I remember you to her ? ” 

“ If you please,” replied Pembroke, wishing 
Madame Koller at the devil, as he often did. Often 
— but not always. 

Then they drifted into commonplace, and pres- 
ently they parted, Pembroke galloping back to the 
village, despising himself almost as much as the day 
he had allowed his anger to lead him into the quar- 
rel with Ahlberg. 

But when he reached his dingy little office, Olivia 
Berkeley, Madame Koller, Ahlberg, all faded rap- 
idly out of his mind. That great game of skill in 
which he was engaged, the stake being a human 
life, again absorbed him. And then the critical 
time came, when, after having tried to prove that 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


93 


the negro’s blow had not killed Hackett, he had to 
bring out his theory that a dead and missing man 
was the murderer. Hackett’s boon companions, 
who formed a community of lawless loafers, had 
been unaccountably shy about attending the trial. 
Like the rest of their class, they regarded a sensa- 
tional murder trial as the most fascinating occasion 
in life. They were great frequenters of the court 
house, particularly of its low drinking places during 
“ court week,” but not one of them showed up in 
the first days of the trial. Cave brought this sig- 
nificant news to Pembroke, who knew few persons 
in the miscellaneous crowd that he saw every day. 
It made his heart beat hard and fast with the hope 
of a coming success. The Hibbses and their retain- 
ers, and a certain set of people who overcame their 
dislike to the Hibbs family out of exaggerated sym- 
pathy for a Northern man with Southern sympathies, 
for which Hackett had posed, formed a kind of 
camp to themselves in the court room. 

The lawyers for the State found out that Pem- 
broke knew all the weak spots in their theory that 
Bob Henry’s blow killed Hackett, but there was no 
suspicion of any evidence forthcoming to support 
Pembroke’s theory that another hand struck the 
blow. Hackett’s association with the deserters had 
evidently been carefully concealed by him, as it 
would have ostracized him utterly. 

Therefore, when Pembroke, putting off until the 
last possible moment, summoned John Jones and 
George Robinson and about a dozen others of the 
7 


94 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ deserters’ gang,” as it was called, his opponents 
were taken by surprise. One day only was taken 
up with their evidence. Each witness, debarred by 
Judge Randolph’s orders from communicating with 
the other, told a rambling, lying, frightened story, 
out of which Pembroke gleaned the midnight carou- 
sal, a quarrel, a blow — all of them running away, 
and leaving Hackett to his fate. In one point, how- 
ever, they all agreed — that the man, William Marsh, 
who was fearfully cut by Hackett’s knife, and who 
disappeared to die, was the one who struck the fatal 
blow that knocked Hackett senseless, and from 
which he never rallied. All were eager to lay it 
on the dead man, and so to shift the suspicion from 
themselves. The State, of course, impugned the 
character of the witnesses, but that was a work of 
supererogation. They had no characters to im- 
pugn. Yet, both judge and jury saw, that without 
the slightest objection to perjuring themselves on 
the part of this precious gang, they were involun- 
tarily proving that Marsh, not Bob Henry, was the 
murderer. Then Cave’s proteg£, a small, ragged, 
undersized boy of fifteen, was introduced. He was 
diffident, and shy, and trembling in every limb, but 
his testimony was perfectly plain and straightfor- 
ward, so much so that an eminent gentleman on 
the side of the prosecution, roared out to him, 
“ Now, young man, tell us if this remarkably 
straight story of yours didn’t have help from some- 
where. Have you talked with anybody about this 
evidence ? ” 


AND TIIEIR NEIGHBORS. 


95 


“ Y ~ y — yes, sir,” stammered the boy, frightened 
half out of his life. 

“ Who was it ? ” thundered the lawyer. 

“ Mr.— Mr.— Cave.” 

“ Aha, I thought so. Now, sir, tell us what Mr. 
Cave said to you — and be careful — very careful.” 

The boy looked perfectly helpless and hopeless 
for a moment. Pembroke almost felt himself 
tremble. 

“ He said — he said, sir, some of the lawyers would 
holler at me, and maybe confuse me — but if I jes’ 
stuck to the truth, and didn’t tell nothin’ but what 
I seen with my own eyes, I’d come out all right ! ” 

Shouts of applause greeted this, which the sheriff 
vainly tried to quell. The great man remarked to 
his personal staff, sotto voce , “ It’s all up. Pem- 
broke’s case is too strong for us.” 

It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day when 
Pembroke’s closing argument was over, and the 
jury had been instructed and had retired. The 
Judge’s instructions rather damped Pembroke’s 
hopes. The testimony of the deserters, while act- 
ually of great effect, was legally not worth much — 
their motive in shoveling the blame on Marsh was 
too obvious. And Cave’s prot£g£, although his 
testimony was remarkably straightforward, was lit- 
tle better than a vagabond boy. Pembroke was not 
so sanguine of his own success as his opponents were. 

The court house was dimly lighted by a few 
sputtering candles and an ill-burning lamp. The 
Judge sat up straight and stern, fatigued with the 


9 6 


THE BERKELEYS 


long trial, but willing to wait until six o’clock, the 
usual hour of adjournment, for the jury. The 
shabby court-room was filled with men, eager, talk- 
ative, but almost breathless with excitement — for 
by some occult means, they divined that the jury 
wouldn’t be long making up its verdict. 

The negro sat in the dock, more ghastly, more 
ashy than ever. Pembroke rose to go to his office. 
He felt his iron nerve beginning to give way, but a 
voice — piteous and pleading — reached him. 

“ Fur God’s sake, Marse French, doan’ go ’way. 
I want you fur ter stay by me.” 

Pembroke sat down again, this time a little 
nearer the poor prisoner, whose eyes followed him 
like a dog’s. 

A hush settled down upon the audience. There 
was no pretense of attending to any other business. 
The opposing lawyers rested wearily in uncomfort- 
able postures about the court-room. They talked 
in whispers among themselves. Pembroke knew 
by instinct what they were saying. It was that the 
jury was hopelessly gone, but that there remained 
hope yet in the stern and silent Judge, whose 
instructions had been brief and in no way indica- 
tive of which way his judgment inclined. It was 
not the result of this trial which concerned them, it 
was the prospect of another. 

Among practiced lawyers, nothing is easier to tell 
than the views of a judge on a criminal case — after 
the decision has been rendered. About an hour 
of the suspense had been endured when a message 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


97 


came that the jury had agreed upon a verdict. 
The expectant crowd suddenly became hushed and 
motionless. Not as wise as the lawyers, there was 
utter uncertainty among them as to — not only 
whether the prisoner was guilty or not, but 
whether Pembroke alone and single-handed, had 
vanquished the veterans before him. 

The jury filed in and took their places, and the 
formalities were gone through, when the foreman 
said in a loud voice, “Not guilty.” A wild and 
tumultuous cheering broke forth. Like the poor 
prisoner, Pembroke felt dazed. The end was not 
yet by any means. The opposing lawyers were on 
their feet in a moment — the sheriff shouted for 
order — and in the midst of this, a sudden silence 
came and Pembroke found himself — he hardly knew 
how — on the platform shaking hands with Judge 
Randolph. 

“I congratulate you, sir,” he heard the Judge’s 
voice saying afar off. “ You have maintained the 
reputation of your distinguished father for the tact 
and judgment with which you have defended your 
client. You have a great career before you. It is 
most encouraging to see such an example among 
the younger members of the bar.” 

Then there was a wild commotion. Pembroke felt 
himself choking, trembling, utterly unable to reply. 
The pause to hear what he would say became pain- 
fully prolonged. He began “Your Honor” — and 
after repeating it twice, became utterly dumb. 

“You may retire, Mr. Pembroke,” said Judge 


THE BERKELEYS 


? 8 

Randolph, with a smile, “your modesty is equal to 
your abilities.” 

At this Pembroke felt himself seized by the legs. 
The crowd carried him out into the night air where 
another crowd yelled and shouted, he strugglingand 
breathless, and presenting a more undignified 
appearance than he had ever imagined himself 
capable of looking. The next thing he found him- 
self on the court-house steps. While in the din 
and confusion, he recognized occasionally faces by 
the light of the swinging lantern in the porch of 
the building. In a moment the attorney-general 
of the State appeared by his side — a handsome 
florid man of sixty. He waved imperiously for 
silence, and the crowd obeyed. 

“My friends,” he said, in a strong, musical voice, 
“ our young friend here has made a magnificent 
fight.” (Yells and cheers.) “ He has done more 
than make an eloquent speech. He has mastered 
the law in the case.” (More yells and shouts.) 
“ It was the intention of my colleagues and myself 
to move for anew trial. We have abandoned that 
intention.” (Yells and shouts wilder and wilder.) 
“ We might possibly get a new trial on technicalities. 
It would cost the county much, and it would not 
subserve the cause of justice — for I cheerfully 
acknowledge to you here, that our young friend 
has proved conclusively that whoever caused the 
death of the dead man, the prisoner did not. Now 
will you not unite with me in giving him three 
cheers and a tiger ! ” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


99 


The uproar was terrific. Pembroke could say 
nothing, could do nothing, but bow. Suddenly an 
inspiration came to him. He turned to the attorney- 
general who stood behind him and shook hands 
with him warmly. The other lawyers crowded 
around him and shook hands. Somebody made 
way through the crowd for Bob Henry. The negro 
on seeing Pembroke broke into loud sobbing, and 
seizing him in both arms called down blessings on 
him. Then Colonel Berkeley shouldered his way 
up to him with Miles. At every minute the 
enthusiasm of the crowd increased. Pembroke was 
growing deadly pale. The excitement, the sleep- 
lessness, of the last week was telling on him at last. 
Colonel Berkeley, after a sharp glance at him, took 
him by the arm, and by dint of hauling and pulling 
succeeded in wedging his way with Pembroke 
through the crowd, which in the hullaballoo and 
semi-darkness, did not know that the hero of the 
hour was gone, and yelled fiercely, “ Speech ! 
Speech ! ” The attorney-general gratified them. 

Colonel Berkeley hustled Pembroke down, back 
through the court-room, out of a side door, and 
through byways to where the Isleham carriage 
stood, and clapped him in it, jumping in after him. 

“Cave will look after Miles,” he said, and shouted 
to Petrarch, who was on the box, “ Home.” The 
coachman laid the whip on his horses and they 
made the five miles to Isleham in half an hour. 

When they reached the house, everything was 
too recent with Pembroke — his final speech, the 


IOO 


THE BERKELEYS 


excitement, the relief, the collapse — for him to have 
recovered himself. Olivia met them in the hall. 
Her father, who relished a new sensation as only a 
man who loves sensations can, was joyous. 

“ Congratulate him, my love,” he called out in 
his merry, jovial voice. “ He is a true son of old 
French Pembroke. Great Caesar ! Haven’t I seen 
your father carry everything before him just like 
this! Would that he were alive this night! My 
darling, you should have heard his speech — a regular 
Burr and Blennerhassett speech, Olivia — and the 
effect — by Jove, my dear, I can’t describe it — and 
the Judge called him up on the bench to congratu- 
late him — and — and — ” 

The Colonel surged on, telling everything at 
once. Olivia listened with shining eyes. She had 
held out her hand to Pembroke in the beginning, 
and as her father talked she continued to hold the 
hand in her little strong clasp. For the first time 
Pembroke was burnt by the fire in her eyes. What a 
woman for a man full of ambition to have ! He had 
seen Elise Koller wildly enthusiastic about herself 
— but Olivia had forgotten all about herself. She 
was coloring, smiling, and sympathetic about him. 

“ How glad I am — how splendid of you — for that 
poor negro, too. God will reward you,” she said. 

“ Now, my boy,” cried the Colonel, “ What do you 
want ? Your dinner or your bed ? ” 

“ My bed,” answered Pembroke, smiling, but 
ready to drop. “ I want nothing but sleep, and I 
want to sleep a week. Thank you, Olivia.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


IOI 


He had never called her by her name since they 
were boy and girl together. The Colonel in his 
excitement did not notice it, but Olivia turned a 
beautiful rosy red. The Colonel dragged Pembroke 
off to his room. Petrarch put him to bed. Before 
he slept though, his thoughts returned to Olivia’s 
soft eyes — while Colonel Berkeley, walking the 
drawing-room floor downstairs, retailed in flamboy- 
ant language, to Olivia, the triumphs of the day. 


102 


THE BERKELEYS 


CHAPTER IX. 

It took two or three days for Pembroke to 
recover from his fatigue and excitement. Perhaps 
he did not hasten his complete recuperation. It 
was surely pleasanter to come down to a twelve 
o’clock breakfast, served piping hot by Petrarch, 
with Olivia to pour his coffee for him, with that 
morning freshness which is so becoming to a 
woman, than the loneliness of Malvern, with poor 
Miles’ sad face and pathetic effort to forget himself 
and the wreck of his boyish life. Cave had taken 
the boy to his cabin in the pine woods to stay some 
days, so that there was nothing to call Pembroke 
back home. Miles was happier than for a long 
time. Cave spoke to him with a certain bracing 
encouragement that Olivia’s pitiful sympathy'and 
his brother’s sharp distress lacked. There was 
more of the salt of common sense in what Cave 
said than in Olivia’s unspoken consolation, which 
much as it charmed the boy, sometimes left him 
sadder than it found him. She was so sorry for 
him that she could not always disguise it. 

So a few days went on, and Pembroke began to 
find Olivia every hour pleasanter, more winning — 
until one night in his own room, after Olivia had 
played to him half the evening and had read to him 
the other half, he took himself to task. In the first 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


103 


place, he did not want to marry at all then. He 
had a great many things to do first. Then, there 
was a serious obstacle in the way, even had all the 
rest been smoothed out. The Pembroke fortune, 
such as it was, was on its last legs. With the 
negroes gone, and the land frightfully reduced in 
value, there was only a slender competence left — 
and those two years in Paris had cost a pretty 
penny. Only during the last few weeks Pembroke 
had waked up to the true condition of affairs. Miles 
must be provided for, and upon a scale more suited 
to Pembroke’s tastes than his resources. Then, 
there remained for the elder brother, nothing. He 
had not thought of this when he borrowed money 
at a high interest so merrily while he was in Paris 
— but as he was every day awaking to his manlier 
self, this had come home to him in its true light. 
He was not a man to ask any woman to share 
poverty with him. To have brought a woman 
down, as his wife, from a state of former luxury, 
would have been a misery too keen. Rather would 
he have died — for false as well as true pride had 
great share in him. Therefore, he thought, as he 
sat in his room smoking, it would be better that he 
did not get his wings scorched. It was to his credit 
that he did not allow any supposition that Olivia 
cared for him to enter into his calculation. 

“ Sweet Olivia,” he thought to himself, “ some 
luckier man will win you. I shall be ten years too 
late,” — and then he sighed, and presently began to 
whistle cheerfully. But one thing was sure. He 


104 


THE BERKELEYS 


would never marry Elise Koller. Even though his 
eyes were opened now to the fact that he was virtu- 
ally a ruined man, there was no longer any chance 
that the baser part of him would succumb to that 
temptation. 

It was pleasant — especially the Colonel’s jolly 
company, to say nothing of Petrarch’s, who 
highly approved of Pembroke, and remarked as he 
industriously brushed his clothes on the last night, 
“ I clar, Marse French, you sutny do favor yo’ 
par. I ’member de time he made that argyument 
when Marse Jack Thornton, he mos’ kilt Marse 
Spott Randolph on ’count o’ Miss Tilly Corbin. 
We had ole wuks dat time. ’Twuz when me an’ 
Marse was co’tin’ missis. I tell yo’ par, * A eye fur 
a eye,’ ‘ a toof fur a toof, an’ I will resist de crip- 
plers, say de Lord.’ Marster an’ me went to de 
cote house ter hear him. I tho’t ’bout it de yether 
night, when de white folks was a crowdin’ ’roun’ 
an’ shakin’ yo’ han’ an’ clappin’ you on de back. 
Arter you went up st’yars, Miss Livy, she come an’ 
say to me, ‘ Petrarch, did you hear de speech ? ’ 
I say, ‘ Lord, honey, dat I did. You jes’ oughter 
seen de folks whoopin’ an’ hollerin’ and Marse 
French he stannin’ up, lookin’ handsome like he mar ’ 
— you aint forgit yo’ mar, has you, Marse French ? ” 

“ No,” said Pembroke. 

“ I reklecks her when she warn’t no older ’n Miss 
Livy. She was kinder light on her feet like Miss 
Livy, and she had dem shinin’ eyes, an dat ar way 
Miss Livy got o’ larfin’ at yer. She an’ mistis* was 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


105 


mighty good frien’s, jes’ like you par an’ marse, an’ 
David an’ Jonadab. Dey use ter come here an’ 
stay a week — yo’ mar come in de kerridge wid Miss 
’Lizbeth an’ Marse Miles, an’ yaller Betsy — she was 
a likely nigger, but a dretful sinner, — an’ you on a 
little pony ridin’ by yo’ par’s side. Lordy how you 
did useter tease Miss Livy an’ dem chillen ! Some 
times you mek Miss Livy cry — an’ cry, an’ de tears 
wuz like de waters o’ Babylon.’,’ 

“ What a brute I must have been ! Why didn’t 
you or yellow Betsy get me a lathering?” 

“ Hi, Marse French, boys is boys. Dey c’yarn 
help bein’ troublesome an’ dirty an’ teasin’. Gord 
done made ’em so.” ‘ My people is rambunctious,’ 
He say, an’ I ain’t never seen no boys ’cept what 
was dirty an’ tormentin’.” 

At last, Pembroke felt he had no excuse for 
remaining longer at Isleham, and besides, he was 
seriously afraid of falling in love with Olivia. So 
he took his way back to Malvern. 

While at Isleham, he had got one or two cocked- 
hatted notes from Madame Koller. But on reach- 
ing home he found that one arrived with great reg- 
ularity every morning and occasionally during the 
day beside. The tenor of all was the same. Why 
did he not come to see his friend. She was so 
lonely. The country was triste at best. Pembroke 
felt very like asking her if the country was so triste 
then why did she not go away. But he was a gen- 
tleman as well as a man, and was patient with 
women even in their follies. 


io6 


THE BERKELEYS 


At last, when he could put it off no longer — as 
indeed he had no tangible reason for not goingto see 
Madame Koller — he went. She received him in her 
little sitting-room, adapting at the time one of her 
prettiest poses for his benefit. She had heard of his 
triumph and was full of pretty congratulations — 
but in some way, she could not strike the note of 
praise that would harmonize. She didn’t know 
anything about professional men. She had lived 
in Europe long enough to get the notion that it 
was rather vulgar to work for pay — not that Pem- 
broke got any pay in this case. But if Pembroke 
had married her, that weather-beaten sign “ Attor- 
ney-at-Law ” would have come down from his office 
in the village, and the office itself would have lost 
its tenant — so she thought. 

Pembroke always felt a delicacy in asking her to 
sing, but Madame Koller often volunteered to do 
it, knowing Pembroke’s passionate fondness for 
music, and feeling that truly on that ground they 
were in sympathy. Olivia Berkeley’s finished and 
charming playing pleased and soothed him, but it was 
nothing to the deep delight that Madame Koller’s 
music gave him — for when she sat down to the piano 
and playing her own accompaniments sang to him 
in her fervid way, it simply enchanted him — and 
Madame Koller knew it. Although he was exas- 
peratingly cool under the whole battery of her smiles 
and glances, yet when she sang to him, he aban- 
doned himself to the magic of a voice. 

While she seated herself at the piano and began 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


107 


to sing, Pembroke, stretched out in a vast chair, 
glanced sidewise at her. She did not mouth and 
grimace in singing as many women do. She 
opened her wide, handsome mouth, and seemed 
only to be calmly smiling, while her voice soared 
like a bird. She had, in short, no amateurish 
tricks. 

Her profile, with its masses of yellow hair, was 
imposing. She was no mere slip of a girl. When 
she had sung to him for the best part of an hour 
she thought the time had come for her reward. So 
she went back to her place on the sofa near the fire 
and posed beautifully. Pembroke almost groaned. 
The singing was delicious enough, but the sen- 
timental hair-splitting had long since palled — and 
besides, the lady was too much in earnest. 

“ You remained several days, did you not, at the 
Colonel’s ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Pembroke, cheerfully, and thinking 
gloomily how very like a matrimonial lecture was 
the ensuing conversation. These interviews with 
Madame Koller always disinclined him extremely 
to giving any woman the power to ask him search- 
ing questions. Only, he did not believe Olivia 
Berkeley was an inquisitive woman — she was quite 
clever enough to find out what she wished to know 
without asking questions. 

The only remark Madame Koller made in reply 
was, “ Ah,” — and lapsed into silence, but the 
silence did not last long. 

“ Olivia must have been very charming.” 


io8 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ Immensely,” answered Pembroke, with much 
heartiness, and wishing Madame Roller would sing 
again. He hardly knew which was the more exas- 
perating, Madame Roller’s tone to him in speaking 
of Olivia, or Olivia’s tone in speaking of Madame 
Roller. 

“ Olivia is so excessively tame,” said she, after a 
pause. “ So cold — so self-contained.” 

“ I don’t think she lacks spirit, though,” re- 
sponded Pembroke, with the easy air of a man dis- 
cussing the most trivial subject, although he swore 
mentally at Madame Roller for introducing the 
subject. “ Miss Berkeley has the reticence of a 
gentlewoman. But by heaven ! I wouldn’t like to 
arouse that spirit of hers.” 

Madame Roller sighed. It was a real and genu- 
ine sigh. She was thinking how hard and strange 
it was that she was not permitted by fate to be 
either a complete gentlewoman or a complete 
artist. She had learned in her student days, and 
in that brief and brilliant artistic period, to be reti- 
cent about her money matters, but that was all. 
She saw even in her Aunt Sally Peyton, whom she 
regarded as an interfering old person, without any 
style whatever, a certain air of security in what she 
said and did — a calm indifference to her world — 
that Madame Roller was keen enough to know 
marked the gentlewoman — which she, Elise Roller, 
who had ten times the advantages, and had twenty 
times the knowledge of the world that old Mrs. 
Peyton had, was never quite sure — there just was 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


IO9 

a little uncertainty — ah, it was very little, but it 
made a great deal of difference. 

“ America seems queer enough to me now,” she 
said presently. 

“ Very likely,” answered Pembroke. “ You have 
remained here much longer already than I ex- 
pected.” 

Madame Roller at this fixed her eyes upon Pem- 
broke in a way that made him wince. A blush, 
too, showed through his dark skin. 

“ Can you — can you — say that to me ? ” she cried. 

Like any other man under the same circumstances, 
Pembroke remained perfectly silent — because it 
is a well-known fact that when a woman takes 
the initiative in tender speeches, the man, if he be 
a man, is at once silenced. But Madame Roller 
was fluent. 

“ I know what you think of me,” she said. This 
surprised Pembroke, who really did not know what 
he thought of her. “ You think me the weakest 
woman in the world. But I have been strong. 
While my husband lived, heaven knows what I en- 
dured. He was the crudest creature God ever 
made.” 

Pembroke thought it was the same old story of 
continental husbands and wives. He had once 
known a marchese who made no secret that he 
occasionally beat his marchesa. But Madame Rol- 
ler almost made him smile at the grotesqueness of 
what she told him, although it was real enough to 
her to make her weep in the telling. 


I IO 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ He was always ill — or imagining himself ill. He 
took medicine until he nearly drove me crazy with 
his bottles and plasters. He lived in a bath chair 
when he was as well able to walk about as I was — 
and I was chained to that bath chair. Everything 
made him ill — even my singing. He would not let 
me sing — only think of it — think of it.” 

Madame Roller glanced at Pembroke through her 
tears. He had stood up and was saying something 
vague but comforting. The late Mr. Roller was 
indeed a dreadful reminiscence. 

“ Banish that time as far as you can,” he said. 
“ The present is yours.” 

“ Is it ? ” she said. “ Now I will say to you that 
black as that past is, it is not so black as this pres- 
ent. Now I endure torments far greater than any 
I felt then.” 

Pembroke’s strong jaw was set resolutely. He 
felt rising tumultuously within him that masculine 
pity that has wrecked many men. He would not, 
if he could help it, prove false to himself with this 
woman, in spite of her tears and her voice. 

“ What have you to say to me?” she demanded, 
after a pause. 

“ This,” answered Pembroke, with much outward 
boldness. “ That your coming here is an unsuc- 
cessful experiment. The same things that made 
this country life distasteful to you in your child- 
hood even, make it distasteful now. This is not 
your native atmosphere. You will never be any- 
thing but morbid and wretched here. This country 

• 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


Ill 


life is like death to you — and almost like death to 
me.” 

“ Then why — why — ” 

“ Why do I stand it ? Because I must. Be- 
cause as a man, I must. Here is my work, my 
duty, my manhood. Don’t be surprised to hear 
me talk this way. You haven’t heard me speak of 
these things before — but still they govern me some 
— more of late than they used to do. There is a 
good deal here that is melancholy enough to me — 
but I would be a poltroon if I started out to make 
life amusing. You see, I have considerable ambi- 
tion — and that impels me to work.” 

Madame Koller surveyed him keenly. By degrees 
the fire of resentment rose in her eyes. She was 
angered at his coolness, at his calm reasoning. Pru- 
dence in love is commonly regarded as a beggarly 
virtue by women. 

“ After all,” she said, “what are you to me? 
Nothing but a whim, a caprice. But had you 
spoken to me a year ago as you do now, I should 
not be here.” 

Pembroke remembered with a blush some slight 
love-making episodes, and her tone stung him. 

“ I can play the rascal if you like,” he said, 
angrily. “ I can pretend to feel what I don’t feel, 
but I warn you, I shan’t be a pleasant rascal. If 
ever I take to villainy I shall probably take to drink 
and gambling too.” 

Madame Koller sat down discontentedly on the 
sofa. When Pembroke had arrived that afternoon 


1 12 


THE BERKELEYS 


her intention had been to determine one thing or 
another — for life at The Beeches could not be 
endured much longer. It mattered little what old 
Madame Schmidt said, but her cousin, Ahlberg, was 
getting restive and threatened to leave her — and 
she was mortally afraid of being left in America 
alone. But what progress had she made ? None. 
And suppose Pembroke were to leave that house 
her lover, would it not be the greatest act of folly 
she had ever committed ? — and she had had her 
follies. And so she was tossed hither and thither 
by prudence and feeling, and condemning her own 
weakness, yet tamely submitted to it. 

Meanwhile, Pembroke had decided for himself. 
This thing could go on no longer. He felt at that 
moment as if he had had enough of love-making to 
last him for the next ten years. And besides, he 
had withstood enough to make him feel that he 
did not care to withstand any more. So he picked 
up his hat with an air of great determination. 

“ I must leave you,” he said. “ Elise, you have 
given me many happy hours, but it would be ruin 
for us to become either more or less than friends.” 

Madame Koller had thought herself thoroughly 
prepared for this, which her own sense told her 
was literally true. But suddenly, without a mo- 
ment’s warning, without her own volition, and al- 
most without her knowledge, she burst into violent 
weeping. Was it for this she had come the in- 
terminable distance — that she had suffered horrors 
of loneliness and ennui ? Alas, for her ! 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 113 

Pembroke was appalled. Apparently all was to 
do over again, but there was no longer any room 
for weakness. His mind was made up and could 
not be unmade. He only stood silent, therefore, 
biting his lip, while his face grew crimson. 

For the first time in his life he hailed Ahlberg as 
a relief — fo'r at that moment Ahlberg appeared on 
the threshold. Madame Roller pulled herself to- 
gether as quickly as she had given way. 

“ Ah, Louis, you are welcome. Do not go yet,” 
to Pembroke. 

Pembroke did not take the hint. He went im- 
mediately. 


THE BERKELEYS 


II 4 


CHAPTER X. 

The sudden pang which wrenched poor Mr. 
Cole's heart when he heard that Madame Roller 
would soon leave the county, and the country as 
well, was vain suffering. For Madame Roller did 
not go. Old Madame Schmidt for the first time 
became restless. Ahlberg protested that he could 
not stay any longer. Pembroke had become en- 
tirely at ease about Ahlberg. Apparently Ahlberg 
was in no hurry to carry out that rash engagement 
to fight, which Pembroke regarded on his own part 
as a piece of consummate folly, and was heartily 
ashamed of. He did not feel the slightest appre- 
hension that, if the truth got out, his personal 
courage would be suspected, because that had been 
tested during the war, but he was perfectly willing 
to let Ahlberg’s arm take as long to recover as it 
chose, and called himself a fool every time he 
thought about the roadside quarrel. 

The ennui was nearly killing to Madame Roller, 
yet she stayed on under a variety of pretexts which 
deceived everybody, including herself. 

She was not well adapted for solitude, yet most 
of the people about bored her. Mrs. Peyton, she 
considered as her bete noir, and quite hated to see 
the Peyton family carriage turning into the carriage 
drive before the door. But for her singing she 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


115 

would have died. But just as long as the wheezy- 
old grand piano in the drawing room would hold to- 
gether, she would not be quite friendless. Pembroke 
had not been to see her since that afternoon when 
she had wept so. But she conveyed to him one day 
when she met him at Isleham, that he need not be 
afraid to come to see her. Man like, Pembroke 
could not resist this challenge, and went — and found 
Madame Koller received him more like an ordinary 
visitor than ever before. Consequently he went 
again. Another motive which impelled him was 
the talk that would arise in the county if he ceased 
going to The Beeches at all. Everybody would 
imagine there had been a breach, and if a breach, a 
former friendship. 

Cave, one day, met Madame Koller at Isleham. 
When she told him of her loneliness he was stricken 
with pity for not having been to see her. Like 
Colonel Berkeley, he thought her presence- in Vir- 
ginia was explained by money troubles, and asked 
permission to visit her mother and herself, Madame 
Schmidt being invariably brought in by Madame 
Koller as if she were a real person instead of a mere 
breathing automaton. And so he went. 

“ What a strange, fascinating man is your friend 
Cave," she said afterward to Pembroke upon one of 
his occasional formal visits, when their conversation 
was always upon perfectly safe and general subjects. 

“ I never discovered any strange fascination 
about him,” laughed Pembroke with masculine 
practicality. 


ii6 


THE BERKELEYS 


“He lives in the woods. Yet he understands art 
better than any man I know.” 

‘‘There’s nothing extraordinary. He is a highly 
educated man. The doctors tell him he can’t live 
except in the pine woods, but his two rooms in his 
log cabin are more comfortable than any I have at 
Malvern.” 

“ By the way, you have never invited me to Mal- 
vern. I used to go there as a girl.” 

Pembroke remembered a speech of his friend’s, 
Mrs. Peyton, to him some time before. 

“ Ah, my dear French,” she had said, “ what a 
dear, sweet, amiable creature your mother was — 
and your father was a regular Trojan when he was 
roused. I remember taking Eliza there for a visit 
once, when she was growing up, and the singing 
mania had just possessed her. She sung all day 
and nearly all night — screech, screech — bang, bang 
on the piano. Your father almost danced, he was 
so mad — but your dear mother was all thoughtful- 
ness. ‘My dear Sally,’ she would say every day 
laughing. ‘ Don’t feel badly about Eliza’s singing, 
and the way Mr. Pembroke takes it. It is the only 
chance John Cave has to say a word to Elizabeth.’ 
Your mother was highly in favor of that match, I 
can tell you, though John had no great fortune — 
and your father was so fond of him too, that he 
really imagined John was courting him, instead of 
Elizabeth. But I shortened my visit considerably, 
I assure you.” 

All this flashed through Pembroke’s mind when 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


II 7 


Madame Roller spoke. And then he colored 
slightly. He was a little ashamed of the dilapida- 
tion of a once fine country house. During the 
war, the place had been raided and the house fired. 
The fire had been quickly extinguished, but the 
front porch and a part of one wing was charred. 
He felt some false, though natural shame at this, 
particularly as Ahlberg, when he and Pembroke were 
on visiting terms, had never been to the place with- 
out intimating that it was queer they did not have 
the house thoroughly rehabilitated. But Pembroke 
had inherited a soul of Arab hospitality, and he 
answered promptly : 

“ Whenever you and Madame Schmidt will honor 
me with a visit, you will be most welcome.” 

“ And will you ask Mr. Cave, too ? ” 

“ Certainly. Mr. Cave is my closest friend.” 

Just as on a similar occasion, Colonel Berkeley 
had incurred Olivia’s wrath by inviting the Pem- 
brokes to meet Madame Roller, so Miles, mean- 
ing to do the most agreeable thing in the world, 
informed Pembroke a day or two after he had men- 
tioned that Madame Roller and her mother and 
Cave were coming to luncheon on Tuesday, that 
meeting Colonel Berkeley, he, Miles, had invited 
the Colonel and Olivia over for Tuesday, also — to 
meet the others. Miles walked away, whistling to 
his dog, serenely unconscious of the chagrin that 
overwhelmed Pembroke at this apparently harmless 
information. 

Pembroke did not swear, although he was pro- 


1 1 8 


THE BERKELEYS 


fane upon occasions — but when Aunt Keturah, his 
old nurse and housekeeper, came to him the next 
minute to ask something about the proposed fes- 
tivity, his answer was, 

“ Go to the devil ! ” 

Aunt Keturah was naturally offended at this. 

“ I didn’t never think my mistis’ son gwin’ talk dat 
discontemptuous way to de mammy dat nuss him and 
Miss ’Lizbeth, and Marse Miles, an’ lay yo’ par out, 
and your mar, an’ set by Miss ’Lizbeth an’ hole her 
han’ ’twell de bref lef’ her body — ” For your true 
African never omits to mention any family tragedy 
or sorrow or other lugubrious proceedings in which 
he or she may have had a part. 

“ Well, old lady, I didn’t exactly mean what I 
said—” 

“ Well, den, you hadn’t orter said nuttin’ like 
it—” 

“ I know it. If you were to go to the devil, I 
don’t know what would become of me.” 

“ Dat’s so, honey. An’ ain’t no wife gwi’ do fur 
you like yo’ po’ ole mammy” — for the possibility 
of Pembroke’s marriage was extremely distasteful 
to Keturah, as portending her downfall and surren- 
der of the keys. 

Colonel Berkeley had often been to Malvern 
since his return, but Olivia, not since she was a 
child, when she would go over with her mother, 
and played in the garden with Miles. Then Pem- 
broke was a tall, overbearing boy, a remorseless tease, 
whose only redeeming trait, in her childish eyes, 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 119 

was the wonderful stories he could tell out of 
books — when he chose. Elizabeth she remem- 
bered — a beautiful, haughty girl, who alternately 
snubbed and petted her. It seemed so long ago. 
They were to come to luncheon at two o’clock. 
When Olivia and her father drove up, with Cave in 
the carriage with them, whom they had picked up 
on the road, Pembroke had been called off for a 
moment by a client who was interviewing him in 
“ the office” — that necessary adjunct of every pro- 
fessional man, and most of the gentry in Virginia, a 
comfortable one or two-roomed building, a little 
back of the “ great house,” where the master kept 
his books and accounts, his guns and hunting para- 
phernalia, where his dogs had the right of entry 
and his women kind had not. 

The house had once been imposing. Two wings 
rambled off from the center building. One was over- 
grown with ivy, and looked both comfortable and 
picturesque under the tall and branching elms. The 
other was gaunt and scorched and weather-beaten. 
The heat had cracked the windows and had forced 
the bricks out of place. One pillar of the porch on 
that side was gone. The damage to the house was 
really not great, but apparently it was ruined. 

Miles met them at the door — Miles, once the 
handsome scapegrace, and now the blighted, the 
unfortunate. The spectacle of his marred face was 
in melancholy keeping with what surrounded him. 

He was genuinely glad to see them. He came 
down the steps, and gallantly and even with a cer- 


120 


THE BERKELEYS 


tain grace, offered Olivia his one arm to alight from 
the carriage. The Colonel scrambled out and im- 
mediately seized Miles. 

“ My dear fellow, driving through this plantation 
to-day brought back to me your father’s purchase 
of that woodland down by the creek in ’forty-six.” 

Anything that occurred in ’forty-six had such a 
charm for Colonel Berkeley that Miles knew he was 
in for it. The Colonel took his arm and trotted up 
and down the portico, pointing out various ways in 
which the late Mr. Pembroke, his devoted friend, 
had neglected the Colonel’s advice in regard to 
farming, and the numberless evils that had resulted 
therefrom. Colonel Berkeley entirely forgot that 
his own farming was not above reproach, and if he 
had been reduced to his land for a living, instead of 
that lucky property at the North that he had so 
strenuously tried to make way with, he would in- 
deed have been in a bad way. But the Colonel was 
a famous farmer on paper, was president of the 
Farmers’ Club of the county, had published several 
pamphlets on subsoil drainage, and was a frequent 
contributor to the columns of the Southern Planter 
before the war. 

Cave and Olivia, finding themselves temporarily 
thrown on each other, concluded to walk through 
the grounds. Madame Roller and her mother had 
not yet arrived, and under the huge trees, a little 
distance off, they could see Pembroke talking with 
his visitor, as the latter mounted his horse to ride 
away. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


121 


In former days the grounds, like the house, had 
been fine, but now they were completely overgrown 
and neglected, yet, there was a kind of beauty in 
their very wildness. 

“ How charming this wilderness of roses will be 
when they are in bloom,” said Olivia, as they 
walked through what had once been a rose walk, 
stiff and prim, now rioting in lush luxuriance. “ I 
remember it quite straight, and the rose trees trim- 
med up all in exactly the same shape — and see, the 
roses have climbed so over the arbor that we can’t 
get in.” 

Cave said nothing. The one love of his life was 
born and lived and died in this home. He could 
see, through a rift in the trees, the brick wall around 
the burying ground where Elizabeth lay. It was 
fallen away in many places, and the sheep browsed 
peacefully over the mounds. The marble slab over 
Elizabeth was as yet new and white. Still Olivia 
did not jar on him at that moment. She was in- 
nately sympathetic. 

They paced slowly about the gravejed paths over- 
grown in many places with weeds, and among a vig- 
orous growth of young shrubbery, unpruned and 
unclipped. She pulled a great branch of pink dog- 
wood from a transplanted forest tree, and swayed 
it thoughtfully as she walked. Presently they saw 
Pembroke coming to look for them. As he ap- 
proached and took Olivia’s hand, a color as deli- 
cate as that of the dogwood blossoms she held in 
her other hand, mounted to her face. 


122 


THE BERKELEYS 


Then they turned back leisurely toward the 
house. At one spot, under a great linden tree, was 
the basin of a fountain, all yellow and choked with 
the trailing arbutus, which grew with the wild pro- 
fusion that marks it in the depth of the woods. 
The fountain was long since gone. Pembroke 
plucked some of the arbutus and handed it to 
Olivia, taking from her the dogwood branch at the 
same time and throwing it away. 

“The arbutus has a perfume — the dogwood has 
none — and a flower without perfume is like a woman 
without sentiment,” he said gayly. As they stood 
still for a moment, Olivia suddenly exclaimed to 
Pembroke : 

“ Oh, I remember something about this fountain 
— don’t you ? ” Then they both began to laugh. 

“ What is it?” asked Cave. 

“ I was staying here once with mamma, when I 
was a little girl — ” 

“ I picked you up and held you over the basin to 
scare you.” 

“ And dropped me in, and — ” 

“Went gallantly to the rescue and dragged you 
out—” 

“And your mother sent you to bed without your 
dinner.” 

“ I remember thinking you were the most comi- 
cal looking object I ever saw with your curls drip, 
ping, and I was particularly amused at the chatter- 
ing of your teeth. What remorseless wretches 
boys are ! ” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


123 


“ I don’t believe you meant to let me slip.” 

“ You were splashing in the basin before I knew 
it. But it seemed a delicious piece of mischief then, 
and Miles’ terror that his turn would come next — 
Elizabeth boxed my ears for it.” 

For the first time since their return home each 
came back to something like the old boy and girl 
frankness, and they laughed like children. 

“ How I loved to come here when I was a little 
girl. Your mother was certainly the most delight- 
ful companion for a child. I remember how she 
allowed me to brush her hair, it was so long and 
beautiful. I suppose my efforts were torture to 
her; how splendid she looked when she was dressed 
for a ball.” 

Pembroke was touched to the heart. His mother 
who died like Elizabeth, in her youth and beauty, 
was only seventeen years older than himself. He 
remembered that she had been a little more than a 
girl when he, her eldest son, reached up to her 
shoulder. Olivia and her father were always asso- 
ciated with his mother. Few persons remembered 
her, he thought bitterly. He had imagined that it 
was impossible for any one to know her without 
being inspired with the profound admiration he felt, 
along with his affection for her. But naturally it 
was not so — and he felt an inexpressible pride in 
hearing Olivia’s words. They were not many, but 
he knew they came from her heart. 

“ Do you know,” he said as they turned away 
and pursued the path to the house while Cave 


124 


THE BERKELEYS 


dropped behind, “ I think you are a little like my 
mother. Petrarch says so too, and Petrarch is a 
physiognomist.” 

“ Nonsense,” cried Olivia, neverthless coloring 
with pleasure. “Your mother was one of the most 
beautiful women in the world, and most command- 
ing in her beauty. I don’t know anybody at all 
like her.” 

They were now near the house, and looking up, 
Pembroke saw Madame Koller and the bundle 
of wrappings she called mamma descending from 
the carriage. A little unpleasant shock came upon 
him. The ladies from The Beeches were out of 
harmony just then. 

Nevertheless they were very cordially greeted. 
Although the day was spring-like, Madame Roller’s 
gown was trimmed with fur, and she cowered close 
to the fire in the big, draughty drawing room. Pem- 
broke fancied that Madame Schmidt’s fondness for 
wrappings would eventually descend to her daugh- 
ter. But Madame Koller was very handsome. The 
quiet winter, the country air had made her much 
younger and fresher. And then, most women are 
much better looking when they are in love. They 
live in a perpetual agitation, which gives a strange 
brightness to the eye, a softness to the smile. 
They are impelled toward their natural role, which 
is acting. Madame Koller had the benefit of all 
this. 

The luncheon passed off very well.. In the house 
was that queer mixture of shabbiness and splendor 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


125 


common in Virginia country houses. At table 
they sat in common Windsor chairs, but ate off 
Sevres china ; a rickety sideboard was loaded down 
with plate. The Virginians were, as a rule, indif- 
ferent to comforts, but luxuries they must have. 
After the luncheon Pembroke took them to the 
library, and through such of the house as was 
habitable. Madame Roller raved over the fine 
editions of books, the old mahogany furniture, the 
antique portraits intermingled with daubs of later 
ancestors — the whole an epitome of the careless 
pleasure-loving, disjointed life of the dead and 
gone Virginia — when the people stocked their 
cellars with the best wines and slept on husk mat- 
tresses — where the most elaborate etiquette was 
maintained in the midst of incongruities of living 
most startling. It had never ceased to be puzzling 
to Madame Roller. She admired, as well she 
might, a lovely girlish portrait of Pembroke’s 
mother which hung in the drawing room. There 
was a piteous likeness between it and the one 
unscarred side of Miles’ face. 

Miles had kept close to Olivia — he was not quite 
easy with Madame Roller. As for Madame Schmidt, 
he had in vain tried to get something out of her, but 
the old lady was obviously so much more comfort- 
able seated by the drawing-room fire, well wrapped 
up, with her feet on the footstool, and nobody to 
distract her attention from keeping warm, that she 
was considerately left to herself. 

But Madame Roller did not enjoy the day, as, 
9 


126 


THE BERKELEYS 


indeed, she did not at that phase of her existence 
enjoy anything. She had fancied she could con- 
quer her heart, in the presence of its object, and 
with a dangerous rival in the foreground. Love 
finds a mighty helper in self-love. Whatever de- 
termination she might once have had to relinquish 
Pembroke melted away when she saw that Olivia 
Berkeley and he were quietly slipping into a state 
of feeling that would turn to something stronger 
in a moment of time. And naturally she thought 
no woman alive could withstand the man that had 
conquered her. 

It was late in the afternoon when the carriages 
drove off. Olivia said truly she had had a very 
happy day. Not so truly said Madame Roller. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


127 


CHAPTER XI. 

The winter had lapsed into spring. It was April 
— the May of colder climates. In a week — a day — 
Nature had rushed into bloom. Even Madame Rol- 
ler, who cared little for these things, was awakened 
to the beauty surrounding her. She spent hours 
walking in the fresh morning air and thinking — 
thinking. The few times she saw Pembroke, and the 
quiet, formal courtesy with which he treated her was 
as wind to flame. In his absence she was perpetually 
thinking of him, devising wild and extravagant meth- 
ods of winning him. It was her pride, she now per- 
suaded herself, that needed to be avenged. Again 
throwing prudence wildly aside, she boldly acknowl- 
edged to herself that it was love. For the first time 
in her life she was thrown upon herself — and a very 
dangerous and undisciplined self it was. Sometimes 
she blamed him less than he deserved for whatever 
folly he had been a party to — and again she blamed 
him more. Madame Roller was fast working her- 
self up to the point of an explosion. 

Toward dusk one evening, as Olivia Berkeley 
sat in the dim drawing-room where a little fire 
crackled on the hearth, although the windows were 
opened to the purple twilight outside, she heard 
a light step upon the portico — and the next mo- 
ment, Madame Roller walked in. 


128 


THE BERKELEYS 


Olivia received a kind of shock when she recog- 
nized her. Madame Roller’s manner to her had 
been queer of late, but she spoke to her very cor- 
dially. Very likely she was wearied and ennuy£d 
at home — and had to come to Olivia in the des- 
peration of loneliness. 

Madame Roller, in response to Olivia’s hospit 
able offer, allowed her to remove the long furred 
mantle, and place it on a chair. She looked at 
Olivia fixedly. Her eyes were large and very 
bright. 

“ You are surprised that I should come here at 
this time, Miss Berkeley?” 

“ I am very pleased, Madame Roller.” 

“ You are surprised. However, is it not strange 
how in moments of great agitation, trifles will come 
to one’s mind ? It reminds me even now, how all 
the people in this county are amazed at simple — 
very simple things. There is nothing in my walking 
a mile or two to see you — I have a servant outside 
— but you, like the rest, regard it as very queer.” 

“As you please, Madame Roller,” answered 
Olivia. 

“ Still more strange will you think it when I tell 
you my errand — for, although you are no fool, 
Olivia Berkeley, you have no heart.” 

“Did you take so much trouble in order to tell 
me this to-night ? ” answered Olivia pleasantly 
enough, but with that little shade of sarcasm in her 
voice that is infuriating to people in deadly earnest. 

“Not entirely. But I am glad you have no 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 1 29 

heart to suffer. I would not wish any one to suffer 
as I do.” 

Madame Koller paused a moment. 

“You know why I suffer. It is not my purpose 
to say how much Pembroke is to blame. I do not 
know how you cold, self-contained people consider 
these things. He did not take the trouble to 
undeceive me, when I supposed he loved me until 
a few months ago — until you, in short, appeared.” 

“ Madame Koller,” said Olivia, haughtily, “ may 
I beg that you will not bring my name into your 
personal affairs or Pembroke’s either? While, I am 
under no obligation to tell you, I have no hesita- 
tion in saying that there is nothing whatever be- 
tween him and me that the whole world may not 
know. He is not my lover and never has been.” 

Madame Koller looked at Olivia and laughed 
mirthlessly. 

“You sit there and tell me that as coolly as if 
you expected me to go home without saying an- 
other word. But I will not go, and I will speak. 
However, there is nothing that you need be angry 
about. Only this. Pembroke, you see, is poor. 
He has great gifts, but they will not bring him 
money for many years. He is extravagant — he is 
proud. He wants to go into public life — that he 
has told me. Imagine the terrible future of poverty 
and debt before him if he marries without a fortune. 
I can save him from all this. I am rich enough 
for both. Say that you will not stand in my way. 
I will remove the only obstacle in his path. I will 


130 


THE BERKELEYS 


give up everything. I will stay in this tedious 
land for his sake. He shall pursue any career he 
chooses. Think well what it is to rob such a man 
of his only chance of fortune and ease. For if he 
does not marry me, he will certainly marry you.” 

Olivia sat upright in her chair completely dazed. 
She forgot to be indignant. For the first time the 
truth enunciated by Madame Koller came home to 
her. Pembroke was poor. He was extravagant. 
He was bent upon entering politics. Olivia had, 
as most women, a practical sympathy. She knew 
very well the horrors of poverty for such a man, 
and her portion would be but small. 

Madame Koller, seeing that she had made her 
impression, waited — and after a while continued. 
Her voice was low and very sweet. She seemed 
pleading for Pembroke’s salvation. 

“ Pembroke, you know, is already deeply in debt. 
He cannot readily accommodate himself to the 
style of provincial living here. He would say all 
these things are trifles. I tell you, Olivia Berkeley, 
they are not trifles. They are second nature. Is 
it not cruel of God to make us so dependent on 
these wretched things? It was for these same 
wretched things that I endured torture for years — 
for money and clothes and carriages — just such 
things as that.” 

Olivia by a great effort recovered herself. 

“ What you say is true, Madame Koller. But I 
will not — how can you ask me such things about a 
man who has never — never ” — she stopped at a loss 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 131 

to express her meaning, which implied a reproach 
at Madame Roller’s want of delicacy. 

Madame Roller made a gesture of impatience. 

“ What are promises?” she cried. “Neverthe- 
less, I want you to see that if you marry Pembroke 
it will be his ruin. It would be most wicked selfish- 
ness.” 

“ Madame Roller,” answered Olivia, rising, “ I 
will not listen to any more.” 

“ I have nothing more to say,” responded Mad- 
ame Roller, rising too, and drawing her cloak 
around her. “ I did not expect more from you 
than conventional tolerance. Had you a heart you 
would have felt for me — for him — for yourself. 
Can you conceive of anything more noble, or more 
piteous than two women, one of whom must make 
a great sacrifice for the man they both love — 
come, you need not deny it, or lose your temper — 
because I see you have a temper.” Olivia’s air and 
manner did certainly indicate dangerous possibili- 
ties. “ I repeat, of two women as we are, the one 
makes the sacrifice — the other feels it to the quick. 
You talk though like a boarding-school miss. You 
might have got all the phrases you have used out of 
a book of deportment.” 

“ I am as sincere as you are, Madame Roller,” 
answered Olivia, in a voice of restrained anger. “ I 
cannot help it that I am more reserved. I could no 
more say what you have said — ” here a deep flush 
came into Olivia’s face — “ than I could commit mur- 
der.” 


132 


THE BERKELEYS 


Madame Roller stood up, and as she did so, she 
sighed deeply. Olivia, for the first time, felt sorry 
for her. 

“ Women who love are foolish, desperate, suici- 
dal — anything. I do not think that you could ever 
love.” 

“ Do you think that ? I know better. I could love 
— but not like — not like — ” 

“ Not like me?” 

“Yes, since you have said it. Something — some- 
thing — would hold me back from what you speak of 
so openly.” 

“ I always said you were as nearly without feel- 
ing as the rest of the people here. Elizabeth Pem- 
broke is the only woman I know of, among all of 
us, that ever really loved. But see how curious it 
was with her. She defied her father’s curses — yet 
she did not have the nerve to marry the man she 
truly loved, because he happened to be an officer in 
the Union army, for fear the Peytons and the Coles, 
and the Lesters, and the rest of them, would have 
turned their backs on her at church. Bah ! ” 

“ I don’t think it was want of nerve on Elizabeth 
Pembroke’s part,” replied Olivia. “ She was not 
born to be happy.” 

“ Nor was I,” cried Madame Roller, despondently. 

There was no more said for a minute or two. 
Then Madame Roller spoke again. 

“ Now you know what I feel. I don’t ask any- 
thing for myself — I only wish to show you that 
you will ruin Pembroke if you marry him.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


133 


An angry light came into Olivia's eyes. She 
stood up, straight and stern, and absolutely grew 
taller as she looked fixedly at Madame Koller. 

“ This is intolerable," she said. “ There is noth- 
ing — absolutely nothing — between Pembroke and 
me, and yet I am subjected to this cross-question- 
ing." 

“ You would complain a great deal more of it if 
there were anything between you," answered 
Madame Koller, not without a glimpse of grotesque 
humor. “ But now you know where I stand — and 
let me tell you, Olivia Berkeley, Pembroke is not 
guiltless toward me, however he would pretend it " 
— and without waiting for the angry reply on Olivia’s 
lips, she vanished through the open door. 

All that evening, as Olivia sat with a book on 
her lap, not reading, but watching the flame on the 
broad hearth, she was turning over in her mind 
what Madame Koller had said. It had disturbed 
her very much. It had not raised Pembroke at 
all in her esteem. She begun, nevertheless, to 
think with pity over the wretchedness of his fate 
should he be condemned to poverty. She fancied 
him harassed by debts, by Miles’ helplessness. Her 
tender heart filled with pity. 

“ Olivia, my love," said the Colonel, emerging 
from behind his newspaper for a moment. “ Pem- 
broke means to try for the nomination to Congress 
— and Cave tells me he is pretty sure to get it. 
Great pity. A man who goes into public life with- 
out a competence dooms himself to a dog’s life for 


134 


THE BERKELEYS 


the remainder of his days. It ruined Pembroke’s 
father thirty years ago.” 

Olivia started. This was like an oracle answer- 
ing her own thoughts. 

She thought, with a little bitter smile that it did 
not require much generosity to give up a man on 
whom one had no claim, and laughed at the idea 
of a struggle. At all events she would forget it 
all. It was not so easy to forget though. The 
thought stayed with her, and went to bed with her, 
and rose with her next morning. 

Meanwhile, alas, for Madame Koller. When she 
came out, she looked around in vain for the negro 
woman who had come with her. She was not to be 
seen. They had come by the path that led through 
the fields, which made it only a mile from The 
Beeches to Isleham, but in going back, she missed 
her way — and then being a little afraid of the ne- 
groes, she went “ around the road,” as they called it. 
At the first gate, a man galloped out of the darkness. 
It was Pembroke. He recognized her at once, and 
got off his horse. 

“ You here,” he cried in surprise — “ at this hour ” 
— for it was well on to seven o’clock, and Madame 
Koller was not noted for her fondness for walking. 

“ Yes,” she answered. 

“ Is anything the matter at Isleham ? ” he asked 
— for she could not have come from anywhere else. 

“ Nothing at all,” she replied nervously. “ I — 
I — went over to see Olivia Berkeley,” she added 
boldly. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


135 


Pembroke could say nothing. After a pause, 
Madame Roller burst out. 

“ Pembroke, that girl is made of iron. She cares 
nothing for you — for anybody but herself.” 

“ And did you find out any of those things by 
asking her? ” he inquired. 

The twilight was so upon them that Madame 
Roller could not well see Pembroke’s face, but she 
realized the tone of suppressed rage in his voice. 
She herself had a temper that was stormy, and it 
flamed out at that tone. 

“ Yes, I asked her. Are you a man that you can 
reproach me with it ? ” 

It is difficult for a man, if he is a gentleman, to 
express his wrath toward a woman. Pembroke 
was infuriated at the idea that Madame Roller 
should go to Olivia Berkeley and ask prying ques- 
tions. He ground his teeth with wrath as he 
looked at Madame Roller standing before him, in 
the half light. 

“ What a price I have had to pay for folly,” he 
cried furiously. “ A little damned love-making in a 
garden — ” he was so savage that he was not choice 
of words and fell into profanity as men naturally 
do — “ a half dozen notes and bouquets — Great 
God ! Is there anything in that which should be a 
curse to a man’s whole life! And I love Olivia 
Berkeley. I could make her love me, but — but for 
you.” 

His violence sobered Madame Roller at once. 

“ There was not much, certainly,” she responded 


THE BERKELEYS 


136 

calmly, “ The love-making in the garden and the 
bouquets would have been little enough — but un- 
fortunately hearts are so perverse. A great many 
are broken by such trifles. It was very amusing to 
you but not so amusing altogether to me.” 

Pembroke began to be ashamed of himself. But 
he was still magnanimous enough not to tell her 
that she had taken a queer course about those 
things. 

“ I suppose I am to blame,” he said with sulky 
rage after a moment. “ I’m willing to shoulder all 
the blame there is — but why should Olivia Berkeley 
be insulted and annoyed by this kind of thing? 
Do you think you will ever accomplish anything 
by — ” he stopped and blushed both for himself and 
her. 

“One thing is certain/’ he continued. “After 
what you have said to Olivia Berkeley, questioning 
her about me, as you have admitted, I shall simply 
carry out my intention of asking her to marry me. 
She shall at least know the truth from me. But I 
think my chances are desperate. Pshaw ! I have 
no chance at all. It’s rather grotesque, don’t you 
think, for a man to ask a woman to marry him when 
he knows that she will throw him over and despise 
him from the bottom of her heart ? ” 

“ That I must decline to discuss with you,” quietly 
answered Madam Roller. She was indeed quiet, 
for at last — and in an instant, she realized that she 
must forever give up Pembroke. All that long 
journey was for nothing — all those months of 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


137 


wretched loneliness, of still more wretched hopes 
and fears, were in vain. She heard Pembroke 
saying : 

“You had best let me see you home. It is too 
late for you to be out alone.” 

“You will not,” she replied. “ I will not permit 
you, after what you have said, to go one step 
with me.” 

Pembroke felt thoroughly ashamed. It was one 
of the incidents of his association with Madame 
Koller and Ahlberg that they always made him 
say and do things he was ashamed of. In short, 
they demoralized him. He had been betrayed 
by temper and by circumstances into things 
that were utterly against his self-respect — like 
this ebullition of rage against a woman. In the 
plenitude of his remorse he was humble to the last 
degree. 

“ May I,” he asked — “ may I, at least accompany 
you to your own grounds ? It is really not safe for 

99 

you. 

Madame Koller turned upon him and stamped 
her foot. 

“ No, no — always no. Do you think there is 
any danger on earth from which I would accept 
your protection? Go to Olivia Berkeley. She 
would marry you in your poverty if it suited her 
whim, and be a millstone around your neck. Go 
to her, I say.” 

Pembroke watched her figure disappearing in the 
dusk along the faint white line of the road. He 


138 


THE BERKELEYS 


stood still with his horse’s bridle in his hand, turn- 
ing over bitter things in his mind. He thought he 
would not go to Isleham that night. He was 
depressed and conscience-stricken, and in no lover- 
like mood. He mounted his horse and rode slowly 
back to Malvern. 


AND TIIEIR NEIGHBORS. 


139 


CHAPTER XII. 

When two weeks had passed, Pembroke still had 
not gone to Isleham — but in that time much had 
happened. The congressional convention had been 
held, and the ball had been opened for him by Cave 
with great brilliancy and power — and after a hard 
fight of two days, Pembroke had got the nomina- 
tion for Congress. It was of infinite satisfaction to 
him in many ways. First because of the honor^ 
which he honestly coveted — and again because of 
the ready money his election would bring. Modest 
as a congressional salary would be, it was at least 
in cash — and that was what he most needed then. 
He did not have a walk over. The parties were 
about evenly divided, and it was known that the 
canvass would be close and exciting. Pembroke 
warmed to his work when he knew this. It was 
like Bob Henry’s trial — it took hold of his intellect- 
ual nature. He was called magnetic — and he had 
a nerve power, a certain originality about him that 
captivated his audiences. 

There is nothing that a mixed crowd of whites 
and blacks at the South so much hates as a dema- 
gogue. Especially is this the case with the “ poor 
whites ” and the negroes. It was from them that 
Pembroke knew he must get the votes to elect. 


140 


THE BERKELEYS 


When he appeared on the hustings, he was the 
same easy, gentlemanly fellow as in a drawing room. 
He slapped no man on the back, nor offered treats, 
nor was there any change in his manner. He was 
naturally affable, and he made it his object to win 
the good will of his hearers through their enlighten- 
ment, not their prejudices. The Bob Henry episode 
did him immense service. A great revolution had 
taken place in regard to Bob Henry. As, when he 
had been poor and in prison and friendless and sus- 
pected, everybody had been down on him, so now 
when he was free and cleared of suspicion, and had 
been an object of public attention, he became some- 
thing of a hero. He worked like a beaver among 
his own people for “ Marse French.” At “ night 
meetings” and such, he was powerful — and in the 
pulpits of the colored people, the fiat went forth 
that it “ warn’t wuff while fer cullud folks to pay 
de capilation tax fer to git young Mr. Hibbs, who 
warn’ no quality nohow” into Congress — for the 
redoubtable Hibbs was Pembroke’s opponent. 
This too, had its favorable action on his canvass. 
As for Petrarch, he claimed a direct commission 
from the Lord to send “ Marse French ter Congriss. 
De Lord, de Great Physicianer, done spoken it ter 
me in de middle o’ de night like he did ter little 
Samson, sayin’ ‘ Petrarch whar is you ? ’ He say 
‘ What fur I gin you good thinkin’ facticals, ’cep’ 
fur ter do my will? An’ it ain’t Gord’s will dat no 
red headed Hibbs be ’lected over ole Marse French 
Pembroke’s son, dat alius treated me wid de great- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 141 

est circumlocution.” Petrarch’s oratory was not 
without its effect. 

Pembroke’s natural gift of oratory had been re- 
vealed to him at the time of Bob Henry’s acquittal. 
He cultivated it earnestly, avoiding hyperbole and 
exaggeration. There is nothing a Virginian loves 
so well as a good talker. Within ten days of the 
opening of the campaign, Pembroke knew that he 
was going to win. Hibbs had a very bad war rec- 
ord. Pembroke had a very good one. The canvass 
therefore to him, was pleasant, exciting, and with 
but little risk. 

But Olivia Berkeley’s place had not been usurped. 
He had not meant or desired to fall in love. As 
he had said truly to Cave, there were other things 
for him than marriage. But love had stolen a 
march upon him. When he found it out, he 
accepted the result with great good humor — and he 
had enough masculine self-love to have good hopes 
of winning her until — until Madame Koller had put 
her oar in. But even then, his case did not seem 
hopeless, after the first burst of rage and chagrin. 

She would not surrender at once — that he felt 
sure, and he rather liked the prospect of a siege, 
thinking to conquer her proud spirit by a bold 
stroke at last. But Madame Koller had changed 
all this. He was determined to make Olivia Berke- 
ley know how things stood between Madame Kol- 
ler and himself — and the best way to do it was to 
tell her where his heart was really bestowed. 

It was in the latter part of April before a day 
10 


142 


THE BERKELEYS 


came that he could really call his own. He walked 
over from Malvern late in the afternoon, and found 
Olivia, as he thought he should, in the garden. 
The walks were trimmed up, and the flower-beds 
planted. Olivia, in a straw hat and wearing a 
great gardening apron full of pockets, gravely 
removed her gloves, her apron, and rolled them up 
before offering to shake hands with Pembroke. 

“ Allow me to congratulate our standard-bearer, 
and to apologize for my rustic occupations while 
receiving so distinguished a visitor.” 

Pembroke looked rather solemn. He was not in 
a trifling mood that afternoon, and he thought 
Olivia deficient in perception not to see at once 
that he had come on a lover’s errand. 

Is there anything more charming than an old- 
fashioned garden in the spring ? The lilac bushes 
were hanging with purple blossoms, and great sy- 
ringa trees were brave in their white glory. The 
guelder roses nodded on their tall stems, and a few 
late violets scented the air. It was a very quiet 
garden, and the shrubbery cut it off like a hermi- 
tage. Pembroke had selected his ground well. 

Olivia soon saw that something was on his mind, 
but she did not suspect what it was. She had 
heard that Madame Koller was to leave the coun- 
try, and she thought perhaps Pembroke needed 
consolation. Men often go to one woman to be 
consoled for the perfidy of another. Presently as 
they strolled along, she stooped down, and plucked 
some violets. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


M3 


“ I thought they were quite gone,” she said. 
“ Here are four,” and as she held them out to Pem- 
broke, he took her little hand, inclosing the violets 
in his own strong grasp. 

There was the time, the place, the opportunity, 
and Olivia was more than half won. Yet, half an 
hour afterward, Pembroke came out of the garden, 
looking black as a thunder-cloud, and strode away 
down by the path through the fields — a rejected 
suitor. Olivia remained in the garden. The cool 
spring night came on apace. She could not have 
described her own emotions to have saved her life 
— or what exactly led up to that angry parting — for 
it will have been seen before this that Pembroke 
was subject to sudden gusts of temper. She had 
tried to put before him what she felt herself obliged 
in honor to say — that the Colonel’s modest fortune 
was very much exaggerated — and she had blundered 
wretchedly in so doing. Pembroke had rashly 
assumed that she meant his poverty stood in the 
way. Then he had as wretchedly blundered about 
Madame Koller, and a few cutting words on both 
sides had made it impossible for either to say more. 
Olivia, pale and red by turns, looked inexpressibly 
haughty when Madame Roller’s name was men- 
tioned. Lovers’ quarrels are proverbially of easy 
arrangement — but the case is different when the 
woman is high strung and the man high tempered. 
Olivia received Pembroke’s confession with such 
cool questionings that his self-love was cruelly 
wounded. Pembroke took his dismissal so debo- 


144 


THE BERKELEYS 


nairly that Olivia was irresistibly impelled to make 
it stronger. The love scene, which really began very 
prettily, absolutely degenerated into a quarrel. 
Pembroke openly accused Olivia of being merce- 
nary. Olivia retaliated by an exasperating remark, 
implying that perhaps Madame Koller’s fortune 
was not without its charm for him- — to which Pem- 
broke, being entirely innocent, responded with a rude 
violence that made Olivia more furiously angry than 
she ever expected to be in her life. Pembroke see- 
ing this in her pale face and blazing eyes, stalked 
down the garden path, wroth with her and wroth 
with the whole world. 

He, walking fast back through the woods, was 
filled with rage and remorse — chiefly with rage. 
She was a cold-blooded creature — how she did weigh 
that money question — but — ah, she had a spirit of 
her own — such a spirit as a man might well feel 
proud to conquer — and the touch of her warm, soft 
hand ! 

Olivia felt that gap, that chasm in existence, when 
a shadowy array of vague hopes and fears suddenly 
falls to the ground. Pembroke had been certainly 
too confident and much too overbearing — but — it 
was over. When this thought struck her, she was 
walking slowly down the broad box-bordered walk 
to the gate. The young April moon was just 
appearing in the evening sky. She stopped sud- 
denly and stood still. The force of her own words 
to him smote her. He would certainly never come 
back. She turned and flew swiftly back to the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


145 


upper part of the garden, and stood in the very 
spot by the lilac hedge, and went over it all in her 
mind. Yes. It was then over for good — and he 
probably would not marry for a long, long time. She 
remembered having heard Cave and her father speak 
of Pembroke’s half joking aversion to matrimony. 
It would be much better for him if he did not, as 
he had made up his mind to enter for a career. But 
strange to say this did not warm her heart, which 
felt as heavy as a stone. 

Presently she went into the house, and was quite 
affectionate and gay with her father, playing the 
piano and reading to him. 

“ Fathers are the pleasantest relations in the 
world,” she said, as she kissed him good-night, 
earlier in the evening than usual. “ No fallings out 
— no misunderstandings — perfect constancy. Papa, 
I wouldn’t give you up for any man in the world.” 

“ Wouldn’t you, my dear?” remarked that amia- 
ble old cynic increduously. 


146 


THE BERKELEYS 


CHAPTER XIII. 

One of the drawbacks of Arcadia is that every- 
body knows everybody else’s business — and the pos- 
sibility of this added to Pembroke’s extreme morti- 
fication. He thought with dread of the Colonel’s 
elaborate pretense of knowing nothing whatever 
about the affair, Mrs. Peyton’s sly rallying, Mr. 
Cole’s sentimental condolence — it was all very 
exasperating. But solely to Olivia’s tact and good 
sense both escaped this. Not one soul was the 
wiser. Olivia, however she felt, and however skill- 
fully she might avoid meeting Pembroke alone, was 
apparently so easy, so natural and self-possessed, 
that it put Pembroke on his mettle. Together they 
managed to hoodwink the whole county about their 
private affairs — even Colonel Berkeley, who, if he 
suspected anything, was afraid to let on, and Miles, 
whose devotion to Olivia became stronger every day. 

Luckily for Pembroke, he could plunge into the 
heat of his canvass. After he had lost Olivia, the 
conviction of her value came to him with overpow- 
ering force. There was no girl like her. She did 
not protest and talk about her emotions and analyze 
them as some women did — Madame Roller, for 
example — but Pembroke knew there was “ more to 
her,” as Cave said, “ than a dozen Eliza Peytons.” 
Perhaps Cave suspected something, but Pembroke 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


147 


knew he had nothing to fear from his friend’s manly 
reticence. But to have lost Olivia Berkeley ! Pem- 
broke sometimes wondered at himself — at the way 
in which this loss grew upon him, instead of dimin- 
ishing with time, as the case usually is with disap- 
pointments. Yet all this time he was riding from 
place to place, speaking, corresponding, as eager to 
win his election as if he were the happiest of 
accepted lovers — more so, in fact. 

And then, there was that Ahlberg affair to 
trouble him. Like all the men of his race and gen- 
eration, he firmly believed there were some cases in 
which blood must be shed — but a roadside quarrel, 
in which nothing but personal dislike figured, did 
not come under that head. Pembroke was fully 
alive to the folly and wickedness of fighting Ahl- 
berg under the circumstances — but it was now im- 
possible for him to recede. He could only hope 
and pray that something would turn up to prevent 
a meeting so indefinitely fixed. But if Ahlberg’s 
going away were the only thing to count upon, 
that seemed far enough out of the question, for he 
stayed on and on at the village tavern, playing 
cards with young Hibbs and one or two frequent- 
ers of the place, riding over to play Madame Rol- 
ler's accompaniments, fishing for invitations to 
dine at Isleham — in short, doing everything that a 
man of his nature and education could do to kill 
time. Pembroke could not but think that Ahlberg’s 
persistence could only mean that he was really and 
truly waiting for his revenge. So there were a 


1 48 


THE BERKELEYS 


good many things to trouble the “ white man’s 
candidate,” who was to make such a thorough and 
brilliant canvass, and whose readiness, cheerfulness 
and indomitable spirit was everywhere remarked 
upon. 

One night, as Pembroke was riding home after a 
hard day’s work in the upper part of the county, 
and was just entering the long straggling village 
street, his horse began to limp painfully. Pembroke 
dismounted, and found his trusty sorrel had cast a 
shoe, — a nail had entered his foot, and there was a 
job for the blacksmith. He led the horse to the 
blacksmith’s shop, which was still open, although it 
was past seven o’clock, and on the promise of hav- 
ing the damage repaired in half an hour, walked 
over to the village tavern. 

It was in September, and the air was chilly. The 
landlord ushered him into what was called the 
“ card room ” — the only place there was a fire. A 
cheery blaze leaped up the wide old-fashioned chim- 
ney, and by the light of kerosene lamps, Pembroke 
saw a card party at a round table in the corner. It 
was Ahlberg, young Hibbs, his political opponent, 
and two or three other idle young men of the 
county. 

According to the provincial etiquette, Pembroke 
was invited to join the game, which he courteously 
declined on the ground that he was much fatigued 
and was only waiting for the blacksmith to put his 
horse’s shoe on before starting for home. The 
game then proceeded. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


149 


Pembroke felt awkward and ill at ease. He 
knew he was in the way, as the loud laughter from 
Hibbs and his friends, and Ahlberg’s subdued 
chuckle had ceased when he came in. They played 
seriously — it was £cart£, a game that Ahlberg had 
just taught his postulants. Young Hibbs had a 
huge roll of bills on the table before him, which he 
somewhat ostentatiously displayed in the presence 
of his opponent, whose lack of bills was notorious. 
Also, Pembroke felt that his presence induced 
young Hibbs to bet more recklessly than ever, as a 
kind of bravado — and Ahlberg always won, when 
the stake was worth any thing. 

The waiting seemed interminable to Pembroke 
seated in front of the fire. The conversation 
related solely to the game. Presently Pembroke 
started slightly. Ahlberg was giving them some 
general views on the subject of ecarte. Pembroke 
himself was a good player, and he had never heard 
this scheme of playing advocated. 

Over the mantel was an old-fashioned mirror, 
tilted forward. Although his back was to the 
players, Pembroke could see every motion 
reflected in the glass. He saw Hibbs lose three 
times running in fifteen minutes. 

Pembroke’s sight was keen. He fixed it on the 
glass and a curious look came into his dark face. 
Once he made a slight movement as if to rise, but 
sat still. A second time he half rose and sat down 
again — nobody in the room had seen the motion. 
Then, without the slightest warning, he suddenly 


THE BERKELEYS 


150 

took three strides over to the card table and, reach- 
ing over, seized Ahlberg by the collar, and lifted 
him bodily up from the table into a standing posi- 
tion. 

“ Produce that king of spades,” he said. 

If he had shot Ahlberg no greater surprise could 
have been created. Hibbs jumped up, dashing the 
cards and money in a heap on the floor, and nearly 
upsetting the table. One of his companions 
grabbed the lamp to save it. 

Ahlberg turned a deathly color, and made some 
inarticulate effort to be heard, and tried to wrest 
himself from Pembroke’s grasp. But it was in 
vain. Pembroke shook him slightly, but never re- 
laxed his hold. 

“ The king of spades, I say.” 

Without a word Ahlberg reached down, and 
from some unknown depths produced the card. 
He was no coward, but he was overmastered physi- 
cally and mentally. He knew in an instant that 
Pembroke had seen it all, and there was no shadow 
of escape for him. 

Pembroke let go of Ahlberg’s collar, and, taking 
out a white handkerchief, wiped his hands care- 
fully. Ahlberg had sunk back, panting, in a chair. 
The grip of a hand like Pembroke’s in the neigh- 
borhood of the wind-pipe is calculated to shorten 
the breath. 

Hibbs looked dazed, from one to the other, and 
then to the floor, where the cards had fallen. The 
one damning card lay on the table. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


151 

“ I saw it twice before this, in the glass,” said 
Pembroke to Hibbs. “ Each time I tried to catch 
him, but he did it so well I couldn’t. But the last 
time it was perfectly plain, — you see. I could see 
under the table in the glass. You had better pick 
up your money, Hibbs.” 

At this, Ahlberg spoke up. 

“ All of it is Monsieur Hibbs’,” he said with 
elaborate politeness, recovering his breath a little, 
“ except two fifty-dollar notes, which are mine.” 

Pembroke picked out the two fifty dollar notes 
and dashed them in Ahlberg’s face, who very 
cleverly caught them and put them in his pocket. 

“ Mr. Pembroke,” said Hibbs, stammering and 
blushing, “ I — I — hope you won’t say anything 
about this, sir. It would ruin me — I don’t mean 
in the canvass, for I tell you truly, sir, I hope 
you’ll be elected, and if it wasn’t for the party, I’d 
give up the fight now. But my mother, sir, don’t 
approve — don’t approve of playing for money — 
and—” 

“ You are perfectly safe,” answered Pembroke, 
“ and quite right in your idea of duty to your 
party, and your dislike to wound your mother is 
creditable. But as for this dog, he must leave this 
county at once.” 

Ahlberg said not a word. He did not lack mere 
physical courage, but cheating at cards was, to him, 
the most heinous offense of which he could be 
convicted. He had been caught — it was the for- 
tune of war — there was nothing to be said or done. 


152 


THE BERKELEYS 


At least, it happened in this out-of-the-way corner 
of the world, where it could never be known to 
anybody — for he did not count his acquaintances 
in the country as anybody, unless — perhaps — Mad- 
ame Koller. At that he grew pale for the first 
time. He really wanted Madame Roller’s money. 
But, in fact, he was somewhat dazed by Pembroke’s 
way of settling the trouble. It really shocked his 
ethics to see one gentleman punish another as if he 
were a bargeman or a coal heaver. These extra- 
ordinary Anglo-Saxons ! But one thing was plain 
with him — if he did not remain perfectly quiescent 
Pembroke was quite capable of throwing him 
bodily out of the window — and if he had lost his 
honor, as he called it, there was no reason why he 
shouldn’t save his bones. 

Pembroke, however, although he would have 
sworn that nothing Ahlberg could do in the way 
of rascality could surprise him, was as yet amazed, 
astounded, and almost puzzled by the promptness 
with which Ahlberg acquiesced in the status which 
Pembroke established. Ahlberg made no protest 
of innocence — he did not bluster, or grow despe- 
rate, or break down hysterically, as even a very bad 
man might under the circumstances. He simply 
saw that if he said anything, he might feel the 
weight of Pembroke’s arm. Nothing that he could 
have said or done was as convincing of his thorough 
moral obtuseness as the way in which he accepted 
his own exposure. 

Just then the landlord opened the door. “Mr. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


153 


Pembroke, your horse is at the door. It’s going to 
be a mighty bad night though— there’s a cloud 
coming up. You’d better stay and join them gen- 
tlemen in their game.” 

“ No, I thank you,” replied Pembroke, and turn- 
ing to Ahlberg. “ Of course, after what has passed, 
it is out of the question that I should fight you. 
Good God ! I’d just as soon think of fighting a 
jail bird ! Don’t take too long to get out of this 
county. Good night, Mr. Hibbs — good night — good 
night.” 

Hibbs accompanied him out, and stood by him 
while he mounted. 

“ Mr. Pembroke,” he said, holding his hat in his 
hand, “ I’m very much obliged for what you have 
done for me, and what you have promised. I 
promise you I’ll never touch a card for money 
again as long as I live.” 

“ And don’t touch a card at all with such an in- 
fernal rascal as Ahlberg,” answered Pembroke, alto- 
gether forgetting sundry agreeable games he had 
enjoyed with Ahlberg in Paris, and even in that 
very county — but it had been a good while ago, 
and Ahlberg had not tried any tricks on him. 

This relieved Pembroke of a load of care — the 
folly of that quarrel was luckily escaped. But he 
debated seriously with himself whether he ought 
not to tell Madame Roller of Ahlberg’s behavior, 
that she might be on her guard against him. In a 
day or two he heard, what did not surprise him, 
that Ahlberg was about to leave the country— but 


154 


THE BERKELEYS 


at the same time that Madame Roller and her 
mother were to leave The Beeches rather suddenly. 
Mrs. Peyton met him in the road, and stopped her 
carriage to tell him about Eliza Peyton’s consum- 
mate folly in allowing that Ahlberg to stick to her 
like a burr — they actually intended crossing in the 
same steamer. That determined Pembroke. He 
rode over to The Beeches, and sitting face to face 
with Madame Roller in her drawing-room, told her 
the whole story. Pembroke was somewhat shocked 
to observe how little she seemed shocked at Ahl- 
berg’s conduct. It was certainly very bad, but — 
but — she had known him for so long. Pembroke 
was amazed and disgusted. As he was going, after 
a brief and very business-like visit, Madame Roller 
remarked, “ And it is so strange about Louis. 
The very day after it happened, he was notified of 
his appointment as First Secretary in the Russian 
diplomatic service — or rather his re-appointment, 
for he was in it ten years — and he has come into 
an excellent property — quite a fortune in fact for a 
first secretary.” Pembroke rode back home slowly 
and thoughtfully. He had never before realized 
how totally wanting Madame Roller was in integ- 
rity of mind. Olivia Berkeley now — 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


155 


CHAPTER XIV. 

It takes a long time for a country neighborhood 
to recover from a sensation. Three or four years 
after Madame Roller, or Eliza Peyton had disap- 
peared along with her mother and Ahlberg, people 
were still discussing her wonderful ways. Mr. Cole 
was paying his court mildly to Olivia Berkeley, 
but in his heart of hearts he had not forgotten 
his blonde enslaver. The Colonel was the same 
Colonel — his shirt-ruffle rushed out of his bosom as 
impetuously as of old. He continued to hate the 
Hibbses. Dashaway had been turned out to grass, 
but another screw continued to carry the Colonel’s 
colors to defeat on the county race track. Olivia, 
too, had grown older, and a great deal prettier. A 
chisel called the emotions, is always at work upon 
the human countenance — a face naturally humane 
and expressive grows more so, year by year. 

It is not to be expected that she was very happy 
in that time. Life in the country, varied by short 
visits to watering places in the summer and occa- 
sionally to cities in the winter, is dull at best for a 
girl grown up in the whirl of civilization. There 
came a time — after Pembroke, taking Miles with 
him had gone to Washington, when life began to 
look very black to Olivia Berkeley’s eyes. She 
suffered for want of an object in life. She loved 


i $6 


THE BERKELEYS 


her father very much, but that cheerful, healthful 
and robustious old person hardly supplied the 
craving to love and tend which is innate in every 
woman’s heart. It is at this point in their develop- 
ment that women of inferior nature begin to dete- 
riorate. Not so with Olivia Berkeley. Life puz- 
zled and displeased her. She found herself full of 
energy, with many gifts and accomplishments, con- 
demned in the flower of her youth to the dull rou- 
tine of a provincial life in the country. She could 
not understand it — neither could she sit down in 
hopeless resignation and accept it. She bestirred 
herself. Books there were in plenty at Isleham — 
the piano was an inestimable comforter. She 
weathered the storm of ennui in this manner, and 
came to possess a certain content — to control the 
outward signs of inward restlessless. Meanwhile 
she read and studied feverishly, foolishly imagining 
that knowing a great number of facts would make 
her happy. Of course it did not — but it made her 
less unhappy. 

As for Pembroke, the fate which had fallen hard 
on Olivia Berkeley had fondly favored him. He 
was not only elected to Congress, but he became 
something of a man after he got there. The 
House of Representatives is a peculiar body — 
peculiarly unfavorable to age, and peculiarly favor- 
able to youth. Pembroke, still smarting under his 
mortification, concluded to dismiss thoughts of any 
woman from his mind for the present, and devote 
himself to the work before him. With that view, 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


157 


he scanned closely his environment when he went 
to Washington. He saw that as a young member 
he was not expected to say anything. This left 
him more leisure to study his duties. He aspired 
to be a lawyer — always a lawyer. He found him- 
self appointed to a committee — and his fellow 
members on it very soon found that the quiet 
young man from Virginia was liable to be well in- 
formed on the legal questions which the House and 
the committees are constantly wrangling over. 
Every man on that committee became convinced 
that the quiet young man would some day make 
his mark. This was enough to give him a good 
footing in the House. His colleagues saw that 
election after election, the young man was returned, 
apparently without effort on his part, for Pembroke 
was not a demagogue, and nothing on earth would 
have induced him to go into a rough and tumble 
election campaign. At last it got so that on the 
few occasions when he rose in his place, he had no 
trouble in catching the Speaker’s eye. He was wise 
enough not to be betrayed by his gift of oratory into 
speech-making — a thing the House will not tolerate 
from a young member. He had naturally a beauti- 
ful and penetrating voice and much grace and dig- 
nity in speaking. These were enough without risk- 
ing the making himself ridiculous by a premature 
display as an orator. He sometimes thrilled when 
the great battles were being fought before his eyes 
— it was in the reconstruction time — and longed for 
the day which he felt would come when he might 


158 


THE BERKELEYS 


go down among the captains and the shouting, but 
he had the genius of waiting. Then he was a 
pleasant man at dinner — and his four years’ army 
service had given him a soldierly frankness and 
directness. He lived with Miles in a simple and 
quiet way in Washington. He did not go out 
much, as indeed he had no time. He became quite 
cynical to himself about women. The pretty girls 
from New York were quite captivated with the 
young man from Virginia. They wanted to know 
all about his lovely old place, especially one charm- 
ing bud, Miss de Peyster. 

“ Come and see it,” Pembroke would answer 
good-naturedly. “ Half the house was burned up 
by our friends, the enemy — the other half is habit- 
able.” 

“ And haven’t you miles and miles of fields and 
forests, like an English nobleman ? ” the gay creat- 
ure asked. 

“ Oh yes. Miles and miles. The taxes e^t up 
the crops, and the crops eat up the land.” 

“ How nice,” cried the daughter of the Knicker- 
bockers. “ How much more romantic it is to have 
a broken down old family mansion and thousands 
of acres of land, than to be a stockbroker or a real 
estate man — and then to have gone through the 
whole war — and to have been promoted on the 
field—” 

Pembroke smiled rather dolefully. His ruined 
home, his mortgaged acres, Miles’ life-long trouble, 
his four years of marching and starving and fight- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


159 


ing, did not appear like romantic incidents in life, 
but as cruel blows of fate to him. 

But Helena de Peyster was a pleasant girl, and 
her mother was gentle, amiable, and well-bred. 
They had one of the gayest and most charming 
houses in Washington, and entertained half the dip- 
lomatic corps at dinner during every week. They 
would gladly have had Pembroke oftener. He 
came in to quiet dinners with them, assumed a 
fatherly air with Helena, and liked them cordially. 
They were good to Miles too, who sometimes went 
to them timidly on rainy afternoons when he 
would not be likely to find anybody else. 

So went the world with Pembroke for some years 
until one evening, going to his modest lodgings, he 
found a letter with Colonel Berkeley’s big red seal 
on it awaiting him. 

He and Miles dined — then Pembroke, over the 
wine, opened the Colonel’s billet. It was brief. 

“ My Dear Boy, — Olivia and I are coming to 
Washington to spend the winter. I have not been 
to the cursed town since the winter before the war, 
when Wigfall was in the Senate, and Floyd was 
Secretary of War. John B. Floyd was one of the 
greatest men the State of Virginia ever produced. 
Now, I want to go to a decent tavern — but Olivia, 
who is a girl of spirit, won’t do it. She insists on 
having a furnished house, and I’ve engaged one 
through an agent. Don’t suppose it will suit, but 
Olivia swears it will. We’ll be up in the course of 


i6o 


THE BERKELEYS 


a week or two, and will let you know. Damme 
if I expect to find a gentleman in public life — 
always excepting yourself, my dear boy. I inclose 
you our address. Olivia desires her regards to you 
and her particular love to Miles, also mine. 

“ Sincerely, your friend, 

“ Th. Berkeley.” 

“ That’s pleasant news,” said Miles. 

“ Very pleasant,” replied Pembroke, without 
smiling in the least. He was glad to see the Colo- 
nel, but he was still sore about Olivia. Whenever 
he had been at home, the same friendly intercourse 
had gone on as before — but there was always an 
invisible restraint between them. Colonel Berkeley 
had noticed it, and at last ventured to question 
Olivia about it — when that young woman had 
turned on her father and cowed him by a look of 
her eye. There were some liberties the Colonel 
could not take with his daughter. 

Promptly, the Colonel and Olivia arrived. 

The house, which was after the conventional 
pattern of the Washington furnished house of 
those days, struck a chill to Colonel Berkeley’s 
heart. 

“ My love,” he said, disconsolately, looking at the 
dull grates in the two square drawing-rooms, “ I’m 
afraid I’ll lose all my domestic virtues around this 
miserable travesty of a hearth.” 

“ Just wait, papa,” answered Olivia, with one of 
her encouraging smiles. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. l6l 

“ I knew how it would be. Wait until some of 
those big boxes are unpacked that you swore so 
about.” 

When the boxes were unpacked, they were found 
to contain the old fashioned brass andirons and fen- 
ders that had shone upon the cheerful hearths at 
Isleham for many years. Olivia in a trice, had the 
grates out and managed to have a wood fire spark- 
ling where once they were. Then she produced a 
great porcelain lamp they had brought from France 
with them, and some tall silver candlesticks and can- 
delabra, which vastly improved the mantels, and she 
re-arranged the tasteless furniture and bric-k-brac 
with such skill that she cheated herself as well as 
others into believing them pretty. 

It was rather an effort to Pembroke, his first 
visit. He would not take Miles with him lest he 
should seem to fear to go alone. It was now five 
years past. Naturally they had met often, but in 
some way, this meeting impressed him differently. 
He had at last waked up to the fact that he could 
not forget Olivia Berkeley. It angered him against 
himself — and so it was in rather an unamiable mood 
that he left the House early, and took his way 
through a drizzling rain to the Berkeleys’. When 
he rung the bell, Petrarch’s familiar black face 
greeted him. 

“ Hi, howdy, Marse French. It do my heart 
good ter see you. Ole Marse, I spec he everlastin’ 
cuss when he fin’ out you been here an’ he ain’t 
home. Miss Livy, she in de settin’ room.” 


THE BERKELEYS 


162 

“ And how are you all getting on here ? ” asked 
Pembroke, as Petrarch officiously helped him off 
with his great-coat. 

“ Tollerbul, tollerbul, sir. Old marse, he mighty 
orkard sometimes. He swar an’ takes de Lord’s 
name in vain, spite o’ de commandment ‘ Doan 
never you swar at all.’ I try ter make him behave 
hisse’f ter de policemens an’ sech, but he quile all 
de time he gwine long de street.” 

He ushered Pembroke through the drawing room, 
into a little room beyond. On a sofa drawn up to 
the wood fire, sat Olivia, making a pretty home-like 
picture, in the half light, contrasted with the dreary 
drawing-room beyond, and the dismal drizzle outside. 

They had not met for nearly two years. The 
session of Congress had lasted almost through the 
year, and when he had been in the county last, 
Olivia was away in the mountains. He noticed 
instantly that she was very, very pretty, but her 
beauty had taken a graver and more womanly cast. 
Oh, the elaborate ease, to cover the overpowering 
awkwardness of those former tete-k-tete meetings ! 
Pembroke felt this acutely when he first saw her — 
but it vanished strangely at the moment that Olivia 
held out her little hand and spoke to him. Her 
voice, her manner, were pleasantly natural. It car- 
ried him back to the old days when he was grad- 
ually slipping into love with her. How grateful 
and soothing had been her native charm as an 
escape from Madame Koller’s exaggerated heroics ! 

“ Papa will be sorry to miss you,” she said point- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 163 

ing him to the easiest chair, and putting her feet 
comfortably on a footstool. 

“ Do you think you’ll like it?” asked Pembroke. 

“ That’s just what I was going to ask you.” 

“ You mustn’t ask me. You know Congressmen 
are received in society only on sufferance. I exist 
on the borders as it were, and am permitted to dwell 
there in spite of, not because I am a Congressman.” 

Olivia smiled and nodded her head. 

“ I know how it is,” she said, “ I’ve heard.” 

“ Now what do you want to do first ? ” 

“ I think,” said Olivia, propping her rounded chin 
on her hand, “ I should like to go to a ball. I have 
not been to a real ball for six years — not since we 
left Paris. You may be surprised at this frivolity 
in one of my years — you know I am getting out of 
my twenties awfully fast — but it is still a fact.” 

“ Your age is certainly imposing. There is a 
superb ball to be given at the Russian Legation next 
week — the Minister is a new man — just come. I 
received a card, and I can get one for you and your 
father through one of the secretaries of legation 
who is my friend.” 

Pembroke produced a handsome invitation card, 
bearing the name of the Russian Minister and 
Madame Volkonsky. 

Olivia’s eyes sparkled. She loved balls as the 
normal girl always does. 

“ And I shall go out to-morrow morning and 
buy a ball gown. Shall I have white tulle and 
water lilies, or peach-blow satin ? ” 


164 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ White, by all means,” answered Pembroke, 
gravely. “ I like to see women in white.” 

“ A white gown,” continued Olivia, reflectively, 
“ is always safest.” v 

“ I suppose, you will go to balls all the time 
after this one. It will be like the first taste of 
blood to a tiger.” 

“Yes, after a long period of — what do you call 
it — graminivorous diet. By the way, some friends 
of yours came to see me to-day. The De Peysters.” 

“ Yes, I like them very much. Helena is a charm- 
ing little thing.” 

“ Delightful girl,” echoed Olivia, with much more 
emphasis than the subject required. 

Pembroke had only intended to pay an ordinary 
afternoon call, but it was so unexpectedly pleasant 
sitting there with Olivia that the fall of night and 
the Colonel’s return both took him unawares. The 
Colonel was delighted to see him. 

“ This is pleasant,” cried he, standing with his broad 
back to the fire, and stroking his white mustache. 
“ I brought my riding horse up, and Olivia’s, too, 
and I sent Petrarch around this morning to make 
a permanent arrangement. The rogue of a livery 
man asked me such a stupendous price that I was 
forced to send him word I didn’t desire board for 
myself and my daughter included with the horses. 
Ah, times are changed — times are changed ! Sad 
lot of you in public life now, begad.” 

“ Very sad lot, sir.” 

“ If we could only get back to Old Hickory in 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 165 

the White House, and the mail twice a week from 
New York, brought in the stage coach — ” 

“ And Old Hickory's penchant for Mrs. Eaton, 
and half the Congress getting tight at the White 
House New Year’s Day. We ought to have it 
all.” 

“Yes — yes — Zounds, sir, we ought to have it 
all ! ” 

Then there was the ball to talk about, and pres- 
ently, Pembroke declining the Colonel’s hearty 
invitation to stay and dine off whatever miserable 
fare a city market afforded, and try some port 
he had brought from Virginia, knowing there was 
nothing fit to drink to be had in Washington, he left. 
Olivia’s invitation to stay was rather faint — had it 
been heartier, perhaps he might have remained. 
As it was, he went home, and surprised Miles by 
coming in whistling jovially. 


1 66 


THE BERKELEYS 


CHAPTER XV. 

The night of the ball arrived. Olivia and her 
father, the De Peysters and Pembroke had all 
agreed to go in one party. The De Peysters had 
been very kind and attentive to Olivia. Her gen- 
tle ways had captivated Mrs. De Peyster, and the 
fun innate in her had done the same for Helena. 
They had asked Olivia to receive with them on 
their reception day, and she had made quite a little 
success on her first appearance in Washington 
society. She sat behind a cosy tea table in an 
alcove, and poured tea with much grace. She was 
a good linguist, and put two or three young diplo- 
matists, struggling with the English tongue, at ease 
by talking to them in their own language. She 
possessed the indefinable charm of good breeding, 
never more effective than when contrasted with 
the flamboyant, cosmopolitan Washington soci- 
ety. The women soon found out that the men 
flocked around her. She had half a dozen invita- 
tions before the day was out. Helena, a soft, blonde, 
kittenish young thing, was in raptures over her, 
admiring her as only a very young girl can admire 
and adore one a little older than herself. Pem- 
broke was among the later callers, and, strange to 
say, Miles was with him. There were but few per- 
sons there by that time, and these Mrs. De Peyster 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


167 


was entertaining in the large drawing-room. He- 
lena brought Miles into the little alcove and plied 
him with soft speeches, tea and cakes. Pembroke 
and Olivia sitting by exchanged smiles at the two 
enjoying themselves boy and girl fashion. Helena 
was but nineteen, and Miles had not yet passed his 
twenty-third birthday. The horror of his wound 
was added to by the youth of his features. 

“ Now take this little cake,” said Helena, earnestly. 
“ I made these myself. Do you know that I can 
make cakes?” 

“ What an accomplished girl ! I shall be be afraid 
of you. I learned to make ash cakes during the 
war,” answered Miles as gravely. 

“ What is an ash cake, pray ? ” 

“ Why, it’s — it’s — corn bread baked in the ashes.” 

“Oh, how funny ! And how do you get the ashes 
off ? ” 

“ Wash them off.” 

In the course of the discussion Miles had quite 
forgotten a piteous and ineffective little stratagem 
of his to turn the uninjured side of his face toward 
whom he was addressing. He leaned forward, gaz- 
ing into Helena’s pretty but somewhat meaningless 
face, just as any other youngster might have done, 
and Helena, with youthful seriousness, had plunged 
into the sentimental discussion wherein the Ameri- 
can girl is prone to fall. Pembroke would have 
gone after ten minutes, but Miles was so evidently 
enjoying himself, that the elder brother stayed on. 
It was like the afternoon at Olivia’s house — so 


THE BERKELEYS 


1 68 

home-like and pleasant — Olivia and himself keep- 
ing up a desultory conversation while they sipped 
tea and listened half-amused to the two youngsters 
on the other side of the round table. Olivia glanced 
at the clock over the mantel — it was half-past six. 

“ I must go,” she said. “ I shall just have time 
for my dinner and for an hour’s rest before I dress 
for the ball.” 

Mrs. De Peyster and Helena urged her to remain 
and dine, but Olivia declined, and the servant 
announced her carriage. Pembroke put her white 
burnous around her in the hall, and handed her to 
her carriage. They were all to meet at the Russian 
Legation at half-past ten. 

At that hour the broad street in front of the Lega- 
tion was packed with carriages. An awning for the 
waiting footmen extended on each side of the broad 
porte coch£re. Half a dozen policemen kept the 
carriages in line and the coachmen in order — for 
this was the great ball of the season, a royal grand 
duke was to be present, and the fame of Madame 
Volkonsky’s beauty had gone far and wide. The 
vast house blazed with lights, and amid the rolling 
of wheels, and the hubbub of many voices could be 
heard the strains of an orchestra floating out. 

Almost at the same moment the carriages con- 
taining Olivia and her father, Pembroke and the 
De Peysters drove up, and the party vanished up- 
stairs. 

“ How beautiful you are!” cried Helena delight- 
edly, up in the dressing room, as Olivia dropped her 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 169 

wraps and appeared in her dainty white toilette, 
Olivia blushed with gratified vanity. Her dress was 
the perfection of simplicity, soft and diaphanous, 
and around her milk white arms and throat were 
her mother’s pearls. 

As the three ladies came out into the brilliant 
corridor to meet their escorts, Pembroke received a 
kind of thrill at Olivia’s beauty — a beauty which 
had never struck him very forcibly before. She 
was undoubtedly pretty and graceful, and he had 
often admired her slight and willowy figure — but 
she had grown beautiful in her solitary country life 
— beautiful with patience, courage and womanliness. 
The Colonel, in a superb swallow-tail of the style of 
ten years past, his coat-tails lined with white satin, 
his snowy ruffle falling over the bosom of his waist- 
coat, his fine curling white hair combed carefully 
down upon his velvet collar in the old fashion, offered 
his arm like a prince to Mrs. De Peyster, herself a 
stately and imposing matron, and proud to be 
escorted by such a chevalier. Pembroke walked 
beside Olivia and Helena down the broad staircase. 

Is there any form of social life more imposing 
than a really splendid ball ? The tall and nodding 
ferns and palms, the penetrating odor of flowers, 
the clash of music, the brilliant crowd moving to 
and fro through the great drawing rooms and halls, 
brought a deeper flush to Olivia’s cheek. She felt 
like a debutante. 

They made their way slowly toward the upper 
end of the last of a noble suite of rooms. Pern- 


170 


THE BERKELEYS 


broke was just saying in low tone to the two girls, 
“ I have looked out for your interests with the 
Grand Duke. My friend Ryleief has promised to 
present both of you — an honor I waived for myself, 
as being quite beneath the Grand Duke’s notice, 
and—” 

“ Colonel and Miss Berkeley, Mrs. and Miss de 
Peyster ; Mr. Pembroke — ” was bawled out by 
Pembroke’s friend, Ryleief who was making the 
introductions to the new Minister and his wife — 
and the party stood face to face with Ahlberg and 
Madame Roller. 

The rencontre was so staggering and unexpected 
that Pembroke quite lost his self-possession. He 
gazed stupidly at the pair before him — M. and 
Madame Volkonsky, who had formed much of his 
life five years before as Ahlberg and Elise Roller. 
He saw Ahlberg’s breast covered with orders, and he 
wore an elaborate court suit. Madame Roller, or 
Madame Volkonsky, blazed with diamonds. Her 
hair was as blonde and as abundant as ever, and 
far behind her streamed a gorgeous satin train of 
the same golden hue as her hair. 

Olivia, too, felt that sudden shock at meeting 
people who rise, as it were, like the dead from their 
graves. She felt also that repulsion that came from 
a knowledge of both of them. She could only 
silently bow as they were presented. But both 
M. and Madame Volkonsky expressed more than 
mere surprise at the meeting. Ahlberg or Volkon- 
sky as he now was, turned excessively pale. His 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 171 

uncertain glance fell on Pembroke, and turned 
again on his wife. As for her, the same pallor 
showed under the delicate rouge on her cheek, but 
women rally more quickly under these things than 
men do. Besides, she had contemplated the possi- 
bility of meeting some of these people, and was 
not altogether unprepared for it. 

If, however, the blankness of amazement had seized 
upon Olivia and Pembroke, and if the De Peysters 
were also a little unnerved by the strangeness of 
what was occurring before them, Colonel Berkeley 
was as cool as a cucumber. He held out his hand 
warmly. He rolled out his salutations in a loud, 
rich voice. 

“ Why, how do you do Eliza. You’ll excuse an 
old man, my dear, for calling you by your first 
name, won’t you ? And my friend Ahlberg that 
was. This is delightful,” he added, looking around 
as if to challenge the whole party. 

In the midst of the strange sensations which agi- 
tated him, Pembroke could scarcely forbear from 
laughing at the Colonel’s greeting, and the effect it 
produced. Madame Volkonsky flushed violently, 
still under her rouge, while Volkonsky’s face was 
a study in its helpless rage. Poor Ryleief, with a 
mob of fine people surging up to be introduced, was 
yet so consumed with curiosity, that he held them 
all at bay, and looked from one to the other. 

“ Does Madame understand that gentleman ? ” 
he asked in French, eagerly — 

“ Of course she does, my dear fellow,” heartily 


172 


THE BERKELEYS 


responded Colonel Berkeley in English. “ She 
spoke English long before she learned Rooshan, if 
she ever learned it. Hay, Eliza?” 

The Colonel’s manner was so very dignified, and 
although jovial, so far removed from familiarity, 
that Madame Volkonsky did not know whether 
to be pleased by the recognition or annoyed. If, 
as it was likely, it should come out that she was an 
American, here were people of the best standing 
who could vouch at least for her origin. She held 
out her hand to the Colonel, and said rapidly in 
French : 

“ I am very glad to meet you. I cannot say 
much here, but I hope to see you presently.” 
When Pembroke made his bow and passed, Vol- 
konsky called up all his ineffable assurance and 
gave him a scowl, which Pembroke received with a 
bow and a cool smile that was sarcasm itself. 
Madame Volkonsky did not look at him as she 
bowed, nor did he look at her. 

In a moment they were clear of the press. The 
De Peysters were full of curiosity. 

“ Who were they ? Who are they ? ” breath- 
lessly asked Helena. 

“ My dear young lady,” responded the Colonel, 
smoothing down his shirt-frill with his delicate old 
hand, “ Who they were I can very easily tell you. 
Who they are, I am blessed if I know.” 

While the Colonel was giving a highly picturesque 
account of Eliza Peyton through all her transforma- 
tions until she came to be Elise Roller, since when 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


173 


Colonel Berkeley had no knowledge of her what- 
ever, Pembroke had given his arm to Olivia, and 
they moved off into a quiet corner, where the 
spreading leaves of a great palm made a little soli- 
tude in the midst of the crowd, and the lights and 
the crash of music and the beating of the dancers’ 
feet in the distance. Pembroke was alternately 
pale and red. Madame Volkonsky was nothing 
to him now, but he hated Volkonsky with the 
reprehensible but eminently human hatred that one 
man sometimes feels for another. Volkonsky was 
a scoundrel and an imposter. It made him furious 
to think that he should have dared to return to 
America, albeit he should come as the accredited 
Minister of a great power. It showed a defiance of 
what he, Pembroke, knew and could relate of him, 
that was infuriating to his self-love. For Elise, he 
did not know exactly what he most felt — whether 
pity or contempt. And the very last time that he 
and Olivia Berkeley had discussed Madame Koller 
was on that April night in the old garden at 
Isleham — a recollection far from pleasant. 

“ Papa’s remark that this meeting was delightful, 
struck me as rather ingeniously inappropriate,” said 
Olivia, seeking the friendly cover of a joke. “ It is 
frightfully embarrassing to meet people this way.” 

“ Very,” sententiously answered Pembroke. He 
was still in a whirl. 

Then there was a pause. Suddenly Pembroke 
bent over toward her and said distinctly : 

“ Olivia, did you ever doubt what I told you that 
12 


174 


THE BERKELEYS 


night in the garden about Madame Roller? that 
she was then, and had been for a long time, nothing 
to me? Did you ever have a renewal of your un- 
just suspicions ? ” 

“No,” answered Olivia, as clearly, after a short 
silence. 

In another instant they were among the crowd 
of dancers in the ball room. Neither knew exactly 
how they happened to get there. Pembroke did 
not often dance, and was rather surprised when he 
found himself whirling around the ball room with 
Olivia, to the rhythm of a dreamy waltz. It was soon 
over. It came back to Olivia that she ought not so 
soon to part company with the De Peysters, and 
she stopped at once, thereby cutting short her own 
rapture as well as Pembroke’s. Without a word, 
Pembroke led her back to where the Colonel and 
Mrs. De Peyster and Helena were. Helena’s pretty 
face wore a cloud. She had not yet been asked to 
dance, and was more puzzled than pleased at the 
meeting which she had witnessed in all its strange- 
ness. Pembroke good naturedly took her for a 
turn and brought her back with her card half filled 
and the smiles dimpling all over her face. 

Meanwhile, the ball went on merrily. Ryleief 
escaped from his post as soon as possible and 
sought Pembroke. 

“ So you knew M. Volkonsky ? ” he said eager- 
ly, in a whisper. 

“Yes,” said Pembroke — and his look and tone 
expressed volumes. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


175 


Ryleief held him by the arm, and whispered : 

“ This is confidential. I suspected from the first 
that our new chief was — eh — you know — not 
exactly — ” 

“ Yes,” answered Pembroke, “ not exactly a gen- 
tleman. An arrant knave and coward, in short.” 

Ryleief, a mature diplomatic sprig, looked fixedly 
at Pembroke, his hard Muscovite face growing ex- 
pressive. 

“ Speaking as friends, my dear Pembroke — and, 
you understand in my position the necessity of 
prudence — M. Volkonsky is not unknown among 
the Russian diplomats. He has been recalled once 
— warned repeatedly. Once, some years ago, it 
was supposed he had been dismissed from the 
diplomatic corps. But he reappeared about five 
years ago under another name — he was originally 
an Ahlberg. He certainly inherited some money, 
married some more, and took the name of Vol- 
konsky — said it was a condition of his fortune. 
He has been charge d'affaires at Munich — later at 
Lisbon — both promotions for him. What his 
power is at the Foreign Office. I know not — cer- 
tainly not his family, because he has none. It is 
said he is a Swiss.” 

“ He will not be long here,” remarked Pembroke. 
Then Pembroke went away and wandered about, 
feeling uncomfortable, as every man does, under 
the same roof as his enemy. He felt no compunc- 
tion as to being the guest of Volkonsky. The 
legation was Russian property— the ball itself was 


1 76 


THE BERKELEYS 


not paid for out of Volkonsky’s own pocket, but 
by his government. Pembroke felt, though, that 
when it came out, as it must, the part that he 
would take in exposing the Russian Minister, his 
presence at the ball might not be understood, and 
he would gladly have left the instant he found out 
who Volkonsky really was but for the Berkeleys 
and the De Peysters. 

He stood off and watched the two girls as they 
danced — both with extreme grace. There was no 
lack of partners for them. Mrs. De Peyster, with 
the Colonel hovering near her, did not have her 
charges on her hands for much of the time. The 
truth is, Olivia, although the shock and surprise of 
meeting two people who were connected with a 
painful part of her life was unpleasant, yet was she 
still young and fresh enough to feel the intoxica- 
tion of a ball. The music got into her feet, the 
lights and flowers dazzled her eyes. She was old 
enough to seize the present moment of enjoyment, 
and to postpone unpleasant things to the morrow, 
and young enough to feel a keen enjoyment in the 
present. She would never come to another ball at 
the Russian Legation, so there was that much 
more reason she should enjoy this one. 

As Pembroke passed near her once she made a 
little mocking mouth at him. 

“ Your friend, Ryleief, promised that I should be 
introduced to the Grand Duke — and — ” 

“ Look out,” answered Pembroke, laughing, “ he 
is coming this way. Now look your best.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


1 77 


At that very instant Ryleief was making his way 
toward them with the Grand Duke, a tall, military 
looking fellow, who surveyed the crowd with very 
unpretending good humor. Pembroke saw the 
presentation made, and Olivia drop a courtsy, 
which Helena De Peyster, at her elbow, imitated as 
the scion of royalty bowed to her. The Grand 
Duke squared off and began a conversation with 
Olivia. She had the sort of training to pay him 
the delicate flattery which princes love, but she 
had the American sense of humor which the conti- 
nental foreigners find so captivating. Pembroke, still 
smiling to himself, imagined the platitudes his 
royal highness was bestowing upon the young 
American girl, when suddenly the Grand Duke’s 
mouth opened wide, and he laughed outright at 
something Olivia had said. Thenceforth her for- 
tune was made with the Grand Duke. 

The next thing Pembroke saw was Olivia placing 
her hand in the Grand Duke’s, and the pair went 
sailing around the room in the peculiar slow and 
ungraceful waltz danced by foreigners. Olivia had 
no difficulty in keeping step with her six-foot 
Grand Duke, and really danced the awkward dance 
as gracefully as it could be done. Mrs. De Pey- 
ster’s face glowed as they passed. Olivia was chap- 
eroned by her, and as such she enjoyed a reflected 
glory. The great maternal instinct welled up in her 
— she glanced at Helena — but Helena was so young 
— a mere chit — and Mrs. De Peyster was not of an 
envious nature. Colonel Berkeley felt a kind of 


i7» 


THE BERKELEYS 


pride at the success Olivia was making, but when a 
superb dowager sitting next Mrs. De Peyster asked, 
in a loud whisper, if he was “ the father of Miss 
Berkeley,” the Colonel’s wrath rose. He made a 
courtly bow, and explained that Miss Berkeley was 
the daughter of Colonel Berkeley, of Virginia. 

Not only once did the Grand Duke dance with 
Olivia, but twice — and he asked permission to call 
on her the next afternoon. 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” answered Olivia 
gayly— and— pray don’t forget to come.” 

At which the Grand Duke grinned like any other 
man at a merry challenge from a girl. 

At last the ball was over. Toward two o’clock 
Pembroke put the ladies of his party in their car- 
riages and started to. walk home. Madame Vol- 
konsky had not been able to spoil the ball for 
Olivia. 

“ Good-bye,” she cried to Pembroke, waving her 
hand. “ To-morrow at four o’clock he comes — I 
shall begin making my toilette at twelve.” 

“ Very pretty ball of Eliza Peyton’s,” said the 
Colonel, settling himself back in the carriage and 
buttoning up his great-coat. “Volkonsky — ha! 
ha ! And that fellow, Ahlberg— by Gad ! an infernal 
sneaking cur — I beg your pardon, my dear, for swear- 
ing, but of all the damned impostors I ever saw M. 
Volkonsky is the greatest, excepting always Eliza 
Peyton.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


1 79 


CHAPTER XVI. 

While Olivia might wince, and the Colonel 
chuckle over the Volkonsky incident, it was a more 
serious matter to Volkonsky. He had certainly 
taken into account the possibility of meeting some 
old acquaintances, but neither he nor Madame Vol- 
konsky had cared to keep up with events in the 
remote county in Virginia, where they had passed 
some agitating days. Volkonsky therefore was 
quite unaware that Pembroke was in Congress. The 
first meeting to him was an unpleasant shock, as he 
had learned to fear Pembroke much in other days. 
But when he began to inquire quietly about him 
of Ryleief, who evidently knew him, Volkonsky’s 
discomfort was very much increased. For Ryleief, 
who rather exaggerated the influence of a repre- 
sentative in Congress, impressed forcibly upon 
Volkonsky that Pembroke possessed power — and 
when Volkonsky began to take in that Pembroke’s 
determined enmity as a member of the Foreign 
Affairs Committee might amount to something, he 
began to be much disturbed. Before the last guest 
had rolled away from the door on the night of the 
ball, Volkonsky and his wife were closeted to- 
gether in the Minister’s little study. Whatever 
passing fancy Madame Volkonsky might have 
entertained for Pembroke some years ago, Vol- 


i8o 


THE BERKELEYS 


konsky was quite indifferent — and if Pembroke re- 
tained any lingering weakness for her — well enough 
— he might be induced to let Volkonsky dwell in 
peace. 

When Madame Volkonsky entered the room, 
her husband placed a chair for her. Often they 
quarreled, and sometimes they were reported to 
fight, but he never omitted those little attentions. 
Madame Volkonsky’s face was pale. She did not 
know how much lay in Pembroke’s power to harm 
them, but she was shaken by the encounter. It 
was hard, just at the opening of a new life, to meet 
those people. It was so easy to be good now. 
They were free for a time from duns and creditors 
— for during her marriage to Ahlberg she had be- 
come acquainted with both. She had a fine estab- 
lishment, a splendid position — and at the very out- 
set arose the ghost of a dead and gone fancy, and 
the woman before whom she had in vain humiliated 
herself, and the man who knew enough to ruin her 
husband. It was trying and it made her look weary 
and very old. Volkonsky began in French : 

“ So you met your old acquaintances to-night.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That charming M. le Colonel called you Eliza 
Peyton.” 

“ Yes,” again answered Madame Volkonsky. 

“ This comes of that crazy expedition to America 
which I tried to dissuade you from.” 

Madame Volkonsky again nodded. She was 
not usually so meek. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. l8l 

“ And that haughty, overbearing Pembroke. 
Does he still cherish that romantic sentiment for 
you, I wonder.” 

Madame Volkonsky blushed faintly. She was 
not as devoid of delicacy as her husband. 

“ If he does,” continued Volkonsky, medita- 
tively, “ he might be induced — if you should appeal 
to him — ” 

“ Appeal to him for what ? ” inquired Madame 
Volkonsky, rising and turning paler. The con- 
tempt in her tone angered Volkonsky. 

“ Not to ruin us. That man is now in the Con- 
gress. He has to do with foreign affairs. He hates 
me, and, by God, I hate him. He knows things 
that may cause you to give up this establish- 
ment — that may send us back across the water 
under unpleasant circumstances. You know about 
the dispute at cards, and other things — you have 
not failed to remind me of them, — and if Pembroke 
is disposed he can use this with frightful effect 
now.” 

Madame Volkonsky remained perfectly silent. 
She was stunned by the information Volkonsky 
gave her — but Volkonsky was quite oblivious of 
her feelings. He was gnawing his yellow mus- 
tache. 

“You might see him,” he said. “You might 
appeal to him — throw yourself on his mercy — ” 

“ What a wretch you are,” suddenly burst out 
Madame Volkonsky in English. They had talked 
in French all this time, which she spoke apparently 


THE BERKELEYS 


182 

as well as English— but like most people, she fell 
into the vernacular when under the influence of 
strong emotion. Volkonsky glanced up at her. 

“ What is it now ? ” he &sked, peevishly. 

His wife turned two blazing eyes on him. The 
fact that she was not upon a very high plane her- 
self did not prevent her from being indignant at 
his baseness — and wounded pride drove home the 
thrust. 

“ That you should dare, that any man should 
dare — to propose that a wife should work on a 
man’s past liking for her to serve her husband’s 
ends. Ahlberg, every day that I have lived with 
you has shown me new baseness in you.” 

This was not the first time Volkonsky had 
heard this — but it was none the less unpleasant. 
Also, he rather dreaded Madame Volkonsky’s 
occasional outbursts of temper — and he had had 
enough for one night. 

“ It is no time for us to quarrel — and particularly 
do not call me Ahlberg. My name is now legally 
Volkonsky, and I would wish to forget it ever was 
anything else. We should better design how to 
keep this Pembroke at bay. I am sure,” continued 
Volkonsky plaintively, “ I have never sought to 
injure him. Why should he try to ruin me for a 
little scene at a card table that occurred five years 
ago ? I wonder if that ferocious Cave will turn up 
soon ? ” 

Madame Volkonsky turned and left him in dis- 
gust. In spite of her cosmopolitan education, and 


AND TIIEIR NEIGHBORS. 


133 


all her associations, there was born with her an 
admiration for Anglo-Saxon pluck which made her 
despise Volkonsky methods. The idea of schem- 
ing and designing to placate a man who had caught 
him cheating at cards filled her with infinite con- 
tempt. 

In the course of the next few days, Madame 
Volkonsky was deeply exercised over the influence 
that Pembroke would have upon her future. She 
had talked their affairs over often with her husband 
in those few days. He had not failed to convey to 
her the rather exaggerated impression that he had 
received from Ryleief, as to Pembroke’s power to 
harm. 

One afternoon, when Volkonsky and his wife 
were driving in their victoria, they passed the Sec- 
retary of State’s carriage drawn up to the side- 
walk. Pembroke was about to step into it. The 
Secretary himself, a handsome, elderly man, was 
leaning forward to greet him, as Pembroke placed 
his foot on the step. Madame Volkonsky looked 
at her husband, who looked blankly back in return. 
The Secretary’s carriage whirled around, and both 
gentlemen bowed — the Secretary to both the Minis- 
ter and his wife, Pembroke pointedly to Madame 
Volkonsky. 

Volkonsky turned a little pale as they drove off. 

“ I wonder if the Secretary will ever speak to us 
again,” said Madame Volkonsky, half maliciously. 

Yet it was as much to her as to him. It would 
indeed be hard were they driven in disgrace from 


THE BERKELEYS 


184 

Washington. Volkonsky had been surprisingly 
lucky all his life, but luck always takes a turn. 
Now, his recall as Minister would be of more con- 
sequence than his escapades as attach^ or Secre- 
tary of Legation. Then, he had played wild works 
with her fortune, such as it was. Madame Vol- 
konsky’s thoughts grew bitter. First had come 
that struggle of her girlhood — then her artistic 
career — ending in a cruel failure. Afterward the 
dreadful years of life tied to Koller’s bath chair — 
followed by her stormy and disappointed widow- 
hood. This was the first place she had ever gained 
that promised security or happiness — and behold ! 
all was likely to fall like a house of cards. 

They paid one or two visits, and left cards at 
several places. Madame Volkonsky had imag- 
ined that nothing could dull the exquisite pleasure 
of being a personage, of being followed, flattered, 
admired. She found out differently. The fame of 
her beauty and accomplishments had preceded her. 
Everywhere she received the silent ovation which 
is the right of a beautiful and charming woman — 
but her heart was heavy. At one place she passed 
Olivia and her father coming out as they were 
going in. Olivia, wrapped in furs, looked uncom- 
monly pretty and free from care. As the two 
women passed, each, while smiling affably, wore 
that hostile air which ladies are liable to assume 
under the circumstances. The Colonel was all 
bows and smiles to Madame Volkonsky as usual, 
and refrained from calling her Eliza. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


185 


Nor did the presence of the Volkonskys in 
W ashington conduce to Olivia’s enjoyment although 
it certainly did to her father’s. The Colonel was 
delighted. In the course of years, Eliza Peyton 
had afforded him great amusement. He was a 
chivalrous man to women, although not above 
teasing Madame Volkonsky, but he refrained 
from doing what poor Elise very much dreaded he 
would — telling of her American origin. She had 
admitted that her mother was an American — an 
admission necessary to account for the native, 
idiomatic way in which she spoke the English lan- 
guage, and Colonel Berkeley knowing this, did not 
hesitate to say that in years gone by, he had 
known Madame Volkonsky’s mother, and very 
cheerfully bore testimony to the fact that the 
mother had been of good family and gentle breed- 
ing. So instead of being a disadvantage to her, it 
was rather a help. But Olivia and herself were so 
distinctly antipathetic that it could scarcely fail to 
produce antagonism. And besides her whole course 
about Pembroke had shocked Olivia. Olivia was 
amazed — it was not the mere difference of conduct 
and opinion — it was the difference of temperament. 
Remembering that Madame Volkonsky had at 
least the inheritance of refinement, and was quite 
at home in the usages of gentle breeding, it 
seemed the more inexcusable. In all those years 
Olivia had been unable to define her feelings to 
Pembroke. She could easily have persuaded her. 
self that she was quite indifferent to him except 


THE BERKELEYS 


1 86 

that she could not forget him. It annoyed her. 
It was like a small, secret pain, a trifling malady, 
of which the sufferer is ashamed to speak. 

Not so Pembroke. The love that survives such 
a blow to pride and vanity as a refusal, is love 
indeed — and after the first tempest of mortification 
he had realized that his passion would not die, but 
needed to be killed — and after five years of partial 
absence, awkward estrangement, all those things 
which do most effectually kill everything which is 
not love, her presence was yet sweet and potent. 
The discovery afforded him a certain grim amuse- 
ment. He was gettingwell on in his thirties. His 
hair was turning prematurely gray, and he felt that 
youth was behind him — a not altogether unpleas- 
ant feeling to an ambitious man. Nevertheless, 
they went on dining together at the Berkeleys’ 
own house, at the De Peysters’, at other places, 
meeting constantly at the same houses — for Pem- 
broke went out more than he had ever done in 
Washington before, drawn subtly by the chance of 
meeting Olivia — although where once she was cool 
and friendly, she was now a little warmer in her 
manner, yet not wholly free from embarrassment. 
But neither was unhappy. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


I8 7 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A MONTH — six weeks — two months passed after 
the Russian Minister's ball. The Grand Duke had 
called informally on the President, accompanied of 
course by the Minister, but his visit to Washington 
was so brief that all formal courtesies were post- 
poned until he returned from his travels in the 
Northwest, which would not be until spring. 
This was the time that Volkonsky looked for- 
ward to as deciding his fate. During the Grand 
Duke’s first brief visit, Pembroke did not know of 
Volkonsky’s diplomatic short-comings — nor until 
the last moment did he know that Volkonsky 
was Ahlberg. He was one of those intensely 
human men, who like fighting, especially if there is 
glory to be won — and he enjoyed a savage satisfac- 
tion in thinking that he would be the instrument 
of Ahlberg’s punishment — and the prospect of the 
catastrophe occurringduring the Grand Duke’s visit, 
so there could be no misunderstanding or glozing 
over of the matter, filled him with what the moral- 
ists would call an unholy joy. He and Volkonsky 
had met often since the night of the ball, but never 
alone. The fact is, Volkonsky had his wife for a 
body guard. She was always with him in those 
days, sitting by his side in her carriage, or else close 
at his elbow. One day, however, as Volkonsky 


THE BERKELEYS 


188 

was coming out of the State Department, he met 
Pembroke face to face. 

Pembroke had chafed with inward fury at the 
cleverness with which Volkonsky had managed 
to avoid him. Therefore when he passed the Rus- 
sian Minister’s carriage with Madame Volkonsky 
sitting in it alone at the foot of the steps, he was 
certain that Volkonsky was in the State Depart- 
ment, and that he could catch him — for it had 
assumed the form of a flight and a pursuit. Pem- 
broke took off his hat and bowed profoundly to 
Madame Volkonsky. She could not but fancy 
there was a glimmer of sarcasm in his manner — a 
sarcasm she returned by a bow still lower. Pem- 
broke could have leaped up the steps in his anxiety 
to reach the building before Volkonsky left — but 
he controlled himself and mounted leisurely. Once 
inside the door, he started at a long stride down the 
corridor, and in two minutes he had, figuratively 
speaking, collared Volkonsky. 

“ I want to speak with you,” said Pembroke. 

“ With pleasure,” responded Volkonsky, “ but I 
may ask you to be brief, as Madame Volkonsky 
awaits me in her carriage.” 

“ I will be brief. But I desire you to come to 
my club — here is my card — at six o’clock this 
evening.” 

Volkonsky straightened himself up. He deter- 
mined not to yield without making a fight for it. 

“ Are you aware of your language, Meestar 
Pembroke? ” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


189 


“ Perfectly,” answered Pembroke coolly. “ Come 
or stay — do as you like. It is your only chance 
of getting away from the United States quietly — 
and this chance is given you not for yourself but 
for your wife.” 

Pembroke had kept his hat on his head purposely 
all this time. Volkonsky had removed his, but 
seeing Pembroke remain covered, put it back also. 
The two men gazed at each other for a moment, 
and then each went his way. But Pembroke knew 
in that moment that Volkonsky would come. 

Once down in the carriage, Volkonsky directed 
the coachman to drive toward the country. It was 
a charming morning in early spring. Madame Vol- 
konsky had expected to enjoy the drive, but 
when she saw Volkonsky’s face she changed her 
anticipations. 

“ What did he say ? ” she asked, almost before 
the footman had mounted. 

Volkonsky reflected for a moment, and then 
answered grimly : 

“ He has offered me a chance to get away 
quietly.” 

Madame Volkonsky said no more. Volkonsky 
began gnawing his mustache — a trick that Ahlberg 
had before. He did not speak until they were out 
in the country lanes. The fresh spring air brought 
no bloom to Madame Volkonsky’s pallid face. 

“ But for the frightful insolence of the fellow,” 
began Volkonsky after a while, “ it might not 
be so bad. He is willing to negotiate. He has not 


THE BERKELEYS 


I90 

gone yet to the Secretary of State with — with — his 
accusations. But the Secretary suspects me. I 
saw it in his face more plainly this morning than 
ever before. And there are certain things in con- 
nection with my negotiations — Great God ! What 
a country ! I communicate with the Department 
of State on certain diplomatic matters. The De- 
partment tells me that the Senate has called for 
information in the matter, and all my communica- 
tions are handed over to a Senate Committee. Then 
the Lower House imagines there is a commercial 
question involved, and invites its Foreign Affairs 
Committee to take charge of it. There is no diplo- 
macy in this miserable country/’ he cried, throwing 
out his hands. “ The State Department is a pup- 
pet in the hands of Congress. No diplomatist can 
understand this when he comes here — or after.” 

“ That is true,” responded Madame Volkonsky, 
with a spice of sarcasm in her that never wholly 
left her. “ None of you Foreign Office people 
know anything of the workings of the United 
States Government.” This angered Volkonsky. 
He broke out — 

“ There is more yet to tell. This wretched canaille 
they ca*ll the Lower House, this Foreign Affairs 
Committee — is subdivided into numerous smaller 
committees — and the one in charge of our negotia- 
tion is virtually Pembroke — Pembroke himself ! ” 

Madame Volkonsky fell back in the carriage. 
She did not wholly understand what this meant, but 
she knew from Volkonsky’s manner, assisted by 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


I 9 I 

her own slight knowledge, that Pembroke was in 
some way the arbiter of Volkonsky’s fate. 

“ And there are documents — letters — that Pem- 
broke has called for, and the State Department has 
produced — that in the hands of an enemy — ” 

He struck his knee with his clinched fist. Dis- 
grace stared him in the face — and the Grand Duke 
himself here — lying would do no good — and when 
that device would no longer avail him, Volkonsky 
felt that his situation was indeed desperate. 

Both remained silent a long time. The carriage 
rolled along slowly. The road was smooth and 
bordered with beech and poplar trees, upon whose 
silvery branches the first tender shoots were com- 
ing out. The air was full of the subtle perfume of 
the coming leaves. But both the man and the 
woman were city bred. They neither understood 
nor cared for such things. Presently Madame Vol- 
konsky touched her husband. Ahead of them 
they saw two figures. They were Olivia Berkeley 
and Miles Pembroke, walking gayly along the path, 
talking merrily. The sight of their innocent gayety 
smote Madame Volkonsky to the heart with 
envy. She had never been able to enjoy simple 
pleasures. A country walk, with a mere nobody, a 
boy younger than herself, with no one to admire, 
to notice, could never have pleased her. All her 
pleasures were of the costly kind — costly in money, 
in talents, in rank. She blamed fate at that mo- 
ment for making her that way, and envied instead 
of despising Olivia. 


192 


THE BERKELEYS 


The two by the roadside bowed — and the two in 
the carriage returned it smilingly. But the smile 
died the instant their heads were turned. 

Volkonsky said presently to his wife : 

“ We must not show the white feather. You 
must sing to-night.” 

This brought Madame Volkonsky up with a 
turn. Her conversation with her husband had 
quite put out of her mind something that had 
engrossed her very much, and that was an amateur 
concert at the British Legation that evening, at 
which she was to sing, and for which she had been 
preparing earnestly for weeks. Singing, to her, was 
the keenest edge of enjoyment. She had begun to 
feel the delight of the applause, of the footlights, 
already in anticipation. It is true it was only an 
amateur concert — but it would be before an audi- 
ence that was worthy of anybody’s efforts — for was 
not everybody, even the President and his wife, to be 
present ? And Madame Volkonsky had speedily 
found out that she would have no rival. She had 
looked forward with intense anticipation to this 
triumph — the one pleasure without alloy — the one 
chance of being justly admired and applauded. But 
in the last hour all had been forgotten. Even the 
artist’s instinct was quenched. She turned cold at 
the idea of singing that night. But with her hus- 
band, she felt it was no time to quail. Then Vol- 
konsky explained to her that he must meet Pem- 
broke at six, and would afterward dine alone at 
home, while she would be on her way to the concert. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


193 


“And Elise,” he said — he rarely called her by 
her name — “ while there is yet hope — for he has not 
so far done anything, and I think he would not 
willingly make you miserable — if you have an op- 
portunity, make — make an appeal to him.” 

Before, when the danger had not been so imme- 
diate, she had derided him to his face for this, but 
now, like him, she was ready to do anything. The 
sweets of her position had grown upon her. For 
the first time in her life she had commanded instead 
of asking admiration and attention. She made 
no promises, but Volkonsky knew that she was 
thoroughly frightened. 

They went home, and Madame Volkonsky, di- 
recting that she be excused to visitors that day, went 
to her room. Like all people who have something 
to conceal, she hated and dreaded to be seen when 
an emergency was at hand. She lay all day on the 
sofa in her bedroom, ostensibly resting and pre- 
paring for the concert of that night — but she did 
not sing a note, and the professor of music, who 
came for a last rehearsal, was ruthlessly turned 
away like everybody else. In the midst of her own 
misery, Olivia Berkeley’s calm and luminous face 
haunted her. Olivia’s destiny was not a particu- 
larly brilliant one— the daughter of a Virginia coun- 
try gentleman of modest fortune, condemned to a 
humdrum life for the best part of the year— already 
past her first youth— and Madame Volkonsky, 
wife of the Russian Minister, twice as beautiful as 
Olivia, gifted and admired— apparently everything 


194 


THE BERKELEYS 


was on Madame Volkonsky’s side. And the two 
had begun life under much the same auspices. 
Madame Volkonsky, who was a clever woman in 
her way, was not silly enough to suppose that her 
present miseries had any real connection with the 
honors and pleasures she enjoyed. But being a 
shrewd observer, she saw that the excellent things 
of life are much more evenly divided than people 
commonly fancy — and she believed in a kind of in- 
exorable fate that metes out dyspepsia and ingrati- 
tude and deceit to Dives, that the balance may be 
struck between him and Lazarus. 

So all day she lay on the sofa, and thought about 
those early days of hers, and Olivia and Pembroke, 
and even her Aunt Sally Peyton and poor Miles and 
Cave, and everybody linked with that time. When 
she thought of Pembroke, it came upon her that he 
might be induced to spare her. She had never 
really understood Pembroke, although she had 
admired him intensely. If she had, things would 
have been very different with both of them. She 
never could understand her own failure with him. 
Of course she hated him, but love and hatred of 
the same person are not unfrequently found in 
women. She could not but hate him when she 
remembered that if he spared them and let them 
get away quietly, it would be because she was a 
woman, not because she was Elise Roller. But 
after all she would be rather pleased to get away 
from Washington now, if she could do so without 
being ruined. She wondered at her own rashness 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


195 


in returning. It seemed a kind of madness. There 
were pleasanter places — and it brought her early 
life and associations too much before her. She was 
not fond of reminiscences. 

Occasionally as she lay upon the sofa, wrapped 
in a silk coverlet and gazing at the cheerful fire 
that blazed in the fireplace, she dropped into an 
uneasy sleep. This made her nerves recover their 
tone, and even somewhat raised her spirits. She 
was anxious and very much alarmed, but not in 
despair. About four o’clock her husband came 
into her room. His face was ashy and he held a 
dispatch in his hand. 

“ The Grand Duke arrives within half an hour. 
This dispatch has been delayed several hours. I 
go to the train now to meet him.” 

Madame Volkonsky sat upright on the sofa. 

“Will it make — any difference to us?” she 
asked. 

Volkonsky shrugged his shoulders. 

“ It will simply bring matters to a crisis. It may 
restrain Pembroke — if not, it is his opportunity to 
ruin me. I shall of course tell his royal highness 
and his suite of the concert, and they may choose 
to go. Russians must always be amused. Perhaps 
you will have the honor of singing for his royal 
highness as well as the President.” His tone as he 
said this was not pleasant. 

“ I met the old Colonel Berkeley just now. He 
asked me how Eliza was. Is it that he is a fool or 
that he wishes to be impertinent ? ” 


196 


THE BERKELEYS 


A ghost of a smile came to Madame Volkon- 
sky’s face. Her husband’s total inability to under- 
stand Anglo-Saxon character, manners, sarcasm and 
humor could not but amuse her. 

“ Colonel Berkeley is not a fool at least,” she 
replied. 

Volkonsky went out and drove rapidly to the 
station. All the people attached to the Russian 
Legation were there, and in five minutes the train 
rolled in. The Grand Duke and his suite alighted, 
and the royal young man, taking Volkonsky’s arm, 
entered his carriage and was driven to his hotel. 

During all this time, Volkonsky was battling 
with his nervousness. He was afraid that the 
Grand Duke would invite him to dine — and in that 
case, he would miss Pembroke, and perhaps exasper- 
ate him. However the Grand Duke did not, much 
to the Minister’s relief and the attaches’ disgust. 
But the concert at the British Legation was men- 
tioned, and the Grand Duke signified his august 
pleasure to attend. The Minister was to call for 
him at half-past eight — just the hour the concert 
began, but royalty does not mind little things like 
that. As the Grand Duke had not paid his respects 
to the President, the attendance at the concert was 
a little unofficial affair, that was to be made as in- 
formal as possible — under the rose as it were. At 
a quarter before six Volkonsky got off — and drove 
to the club. 

Pembroke had not yet arrived, but the servants 
had orders to show M. Volkonsky to a private 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


197 


room, where Mr. Pembroke would join him. This 
delay enraged Volkonsky. He thought it was a 
premeditated slight on Pembroke’s part to keep 
him waiting. He went to the room, however, and 
sat down and played with his gloves and waited 
impatiently and angrily. 

It was nearly half an hour after Volkonsky had 
arrived that Pembroke came in looking hurried and 
flushed. He did not mind at all crushing Vol- 
konsky, and could with pleasure have kicked him 
into the street, but he was not disposed to the small 
revenges, like keeping an enemy waiting. He said 
at once : 

“ Pray excuse my delay. I apologize — ” 

“ No apology is required,” answered Volkonsky 
haughtily ; “ I have this instant myself arrived. I 
have been in attendance upon his royal highness, 
the Grand Duke Alexis, who has just reached 
town.” 

“ And I,” responded Pembroke bowing, “ have 
been in attendance upon his excellency, the Presi- 
dent of the United States — which of course, obliges 
me to postpone any other appointment.” 

Volkonsky fancied a lurking smile in the corners 
of Pembroke’s mouth. These incomprehensible 
Americans, he thought bitterly, never tell people 
when they are joking. But Pembroke was in no 
joking mood. He sat down by a little table be- 
tween them, and looked Volkonsky full in the 
eye. 

“ I have been with the President and the Secre- 


1 98 


THE BERKELEYS 


tary of State, and it is upon your affairs that we 
met.” 

Volkonsky shifted uneasily in his chair. These 
terrible Americans. They outraged all diplomacy. 

“And may I ask the result of that conference ? ” 
he inquired. 

“ Certainly. That if you will agree to go quietly, 
you may.” 

Volkonsky drew himself up. Pembroke remem- 
bered a similar gesture and attitude in a country 
road, some years before. 

“ And if I decline ? ” 

Pembroke nodded gravely. 

“ Then the President, through the State Depart- 
ment will feel compelled to notify your government 
of the correspondence of yours which came into the 
hands of the Department, and was upon my request 
presented to the Foreign Affairs sub-committee. 
This is enough, you understand, for your recall, and 
perhaps dismissal. But I thought proper to inform 
the President of what I knew personally regarding 
you — and I also informed him that your wife was 
entitled to some consideration of which you were 
totally unworthy. So you had best take advantage 
of the President’s leniency in allowing you to go, 
without a peremptory demand for your recall.” 

“You perhaps have gone too fast,” answered 
Volkonsky in a quiet voice — for the whole con- 
versation had been conducted in a conversational 
key. “You are no doubt aware that the United 
States Government is bound by some obligations to 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


I 99 


the Government of the Czar, owing to the stand 
taken by Russia during your civil war, when you, 
Mr. Pembroke, were in rebellion. If you will 
remember, when there seemed a strong probability 
that the Confederate government would be recog- 
nized by England and France, the Czar signified, 
that if such a contingency arose, he would be pre- 
pared to render the United States active help. As 
a guarantee, you will recollect the appearance of 
a small Russian fleet off the Pacific Coast. Now, 
upon the first occasion that a member of the royal 
family comes to the United States, to have a diplo- 
matic scandal — to dismiss the Russian Minister the 
day after the Grand Duke’s arrival — when arrange- 
ments are made for the presentations, and certain 
formal entertainments — will certainly be most 
awkward, and I may say, embarrassing, for his 
royal highness as well as the Russian Govern- 
ment.” 

“ Quite true,” answered Pembroke. “ This phase 
of the question was discussed fully by the Secre- 
tary of State, who was present at the interview 
with the President. He mentioned that the strong- 
est proof of friendship this Government could give 
the Russian Government would be for the Secre- 
tary to state privately to the Grand Duke how 
matters stand, and to offer, on his account, to per- 
mit your presence temporarily in Washington.” 

Volkonsky stood up for a moment and sat down 
again. His face was quite desperate by this time. 
And the amazing audacity of this American ! 


200 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ How can it be arranged ? It is impossible ; you 
must yield,” he gasped. 

“ The President himself has arranged everything. 
That is,” he added, with some malice, “ he agreed 
to my proposition, as did the Secretary of State. 
The Secretary, to-morrow, will have an interview 
with the Grand Duke, and — ” 

“ Will follow the Grand Duke’s wishes ? ” eagerly 
asked Volkonsky, rising again. 

“Not at all,” replied Pembroke, with dignity. 
“ Such is not the practice of this government. 
The Secretary will notify the Grand Duke what the 
President is prepared to yield out of courtesy to 
the Russian Government, and respect for the Czar’s 
family. You will be allowed to present the Grand 
Duke to the President, according to the original 
programme. But you will be careful not to offer 
your hand to the President, or to presume to en- 
gage him in conversation. Don’t forget this.” 

“ And the State dinner to his royal highness ? ” 
asked Volkonsky, in a tremulous voice. 

“ A card will be sent you, but you must absent 
yourself. It was agreed that you had abundant 
resources by which you could avoid coming, which 
I warn you will not be allowed. You might be 
called away from Washington upon imperative 
business.” 

“ Or I might be ill. It would perhaps be the 
best solution of the difficulty if I should be taken 
ill now, and remain so for the next two weeks.” 

Pembroke could not for his life, refrain from 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


201 


smiling at this. Volkonsky, however, was far 
from smiling. He regarded these things as of 
tremendous import. 

‘‘And Madame Volkonsky — and the State din- 
ner? ” he said. 

“ That,” answered Pembroke, with a bow, “ rests 
solely with Madame Volkonsky. This govern- 
ment fights men, not women.” 

Volkonsky had been restless, getting up and 
walking about, and then sitting down at the table 
and resting his face on his hands. Pembroke had 
not moved from his first position, which was one 
of easy dignity. Presently Volkonsky burst out 
with : 

“ But did the President himself say anything of 
me?” 

“ He did.” 

“ Then I insist on hearing it.” 

“ M. Volkonsky, it would do you no good. 
The arrangements I have told you of are final, and 
I will be present with other members of the For- 
eign Affairs Committee at your meeting with the 
President.” 

Volkonsky at once thought that the President 
had said something which was favorable to him. 
He said violently : 

“ But I demand to know. I am still the accred- 
ited Minister of all the Russias. I have certain 
rights, which must be respected. I demand to 
know the President’s exact language.” 

“ M. Volkonsky, I expressly disclaim any sym- 


202 


THE BERKELEYS 


pathy with the President’s remarks. His language 
is far from diplomatic. He did not expect it to be 
repeated.” 

“ I demand to know,” shouted Volkonsky, furi- 
ously. 

“ He said, he knew you were an infernal scoun- 
drel the instant he put his eyes on you.” 

Volkonsky fell back in his chair almost stunned. 
Pembroke, whose sense of humor was struggling 
with his anger and disgust, almost felt sorry for 
him. After a pause, Volkonsky raised himself up 
and looked fixedly at Pembroke. 

“ Why do you not enter the diplomatic service ? ” 
he said. “You have great talents in that direction.” 

“ Because,” answered Pembroke, smiling in a way 
that made Volkonsky feel like strangling him, 
“ the diplomatic service is no career for a man — ” 

“ In America, yes. But in Europe ?” 

“ Nor in Europe, either. Before the railroad and 
the telegraph, Ministers had powers and responsi- 
bilities. Now, they are merely agents and messen- 
gers. However, we will not discuss that. Our 
affairs are finished. I only have to warn you not 
to abuse the reasonable indulgence of this govern- 
ment. You are to take yourself off — and if not, 
you will be driven out.” 

After Volkonsky left him, Pembroke dined 
alone at the club. He felt singularly depressed. 
As long as he had Volkonsky before him, he 
enjoyed the pleasure of beating his enemy accord- 
ing to the savage instincts which yet dwell in the 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


203 


human breast. Vorkonsky gone, he began to think 
with a certain remorse of Eiise. The thought of 
her misery gave him pain. 

Suddenly he remembered the concert. He recol- 
lected that Miles had engaged for both of them to 
go with Colonel Berkeley and Olivia. But for 
Miles, he would have excused himself from his 
engagement — but the boy could seldom be induced 
to go anywhere, and he had seemed eager to go to 
this place — but not without Olivia. For she had 
the gentle tact to make him feel at ease. She 
screened him from the curious and unthinking — he 
did not feel lost and abashed with Olivia as he did 
without her. So Pembroke finished his dinner 
hurriedly, and went back to his lodgings, where 
Miles was awaiting him, after having dined alone — 
and in a little while they were at the Colonel’s 
house, where Olivia came out on her father’s arm, 
and the big landau, brought from Isleham, with 
Petrarch on the box as of old, rolled along toward 
the British Legation and took its place in line. 

When they reached the brilliantly lighted ball- 
room, where a concert stage had been erected and 
chairs arranged in rows, Pembroke took Miles’ 
usual place at Olivia’s side. He always felt with 
her, the charm of a sweet reasonableness and refine- 
ment. After the man he had talked with, and the 
thoughts and evil passions he had just experienced, 
it was refreshment to sit beside Olivia Berkeley, to 
look into her clear eyes and to listen to her soft 
voice. 


204 


THE BERKELEYS 


The great ball-room was full and very brilliant. 
Pembroke looked and felt distrait. He was glad it 
was a concert, and that he could sit still and be 
silent, instead of moving about and being obliged 
to talk. He had altogether forgotten Madame 
Volkonsky’s connection with it until he saw her 
name on the programme. It gave him an unpleas- 
ant shock — and presently there was a slight com- 
motion, and the British Minister escorted the Pres- 
ident and his wife up the room to the arm-chairs 
placed for them — and a few minutes after, the 
Grand Duke and his suite — and in the suite Pem- 
broke saw Volkonsky. 

Olivia did not look at Volkonsky as he passed. 
He always excited strong repulsion in her. Then 
the music began. 

It was a very ordinary concert, as concerts are 
apt to be by very distinguished persons. The pro- 
gramme was long and amateurish. But when 
Madame Volkonsky’s first number was reached 
the audience waked up. She was the only artist in 
the lot. 

She came on the stage smiling and bowing, which 
raised the applause that greeted her to a storm. 
She need not have wished a better foil for her art 
as well as her manner and appearance than those 
who had preceded her. It had been her terror, 
amid all the pleasure of exhibiting her accom- 
plishments, that the professional would be too obvi- 
ous. She was always afraid that some practised 
eye — which indeed sometimes happened — would 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


205 


discover that her art was no amateur’s art. But to- 
night she was troubled by nothing like this. She 
knew all. She knew that invited to the house of 
the President, she could not go — she knew that she 
must slip away like a criminal from her own coun- 
try, and from those very men and women who now 
admired and envied her. She had married Ahlberg 
deliberately, knowing who he was, and had schemed 
with him and for him. She had done nothing very 
wrong, she had said to herself, a dozen times that 
day — nothing but to prefer present interest to ever- 
lasting principles — nothing but to join her fate with 
full knowledge, to a scoundrel — nothing but to have 
preferred money and pleasure and crooked ways to 
the straight. Meanwhile many women did as she 
did and were not so cruelly punished. But fate 
had overtaken her. No fear now lest people 
should know she was once a professional singer — 
they would know all about her soon enough. She 
knew that the storm that would break upon her 
was only delayed a little. She would therefore 
enjoy to the most this last time — this one feast 
at the king’s table. She sang her best — sang as 
if inspired, and in the subtile harmonies, the 
deep mysterious cries, the passionate meaning of 
Schumann and Schubert, her soul found utterance 
through her voice. Had she been permitted to sing 
thus always — had that glorious but capricious voice 
always remained like that, she would have been a 
proud and satisfied artist, instead of this trembling 
and disappointed worldling, about to be hurled 

14 


206 


THE BERKELEYS 


from her place in the eyes of the world she loved 
and feared so much. 

The applause, which soon became as wild and 
earnest as if it were a real stage, warmed her and 
brought the red blood to her face. She bowed right 
and left with the grace and precision of one trained 
to receive applause beautifully. Then in response 
to the tremendous encores, she sang a little German 
song — so simple, so low and clear, that it sounded 
like a mother’s lullaby. Even those arrayed against 
her felt the spell of her thrilling voice. Olivia 
Berkeley, who had always antagonized her strongly, 
felt her cheeks flush and her heart trembled with a 
kind of remorse. 

Pembroke was pierced again, and more strongly, 
by the self-accusing spirit that this woman was to 
be stricken by his hand. He felt himself right in 
what he had done — but neither happy, nor self- 
approving, nor guiltless. 

The rest of the concert seemed tamer than ever. 
When it was over there was to be a supper to a few 
invited guests. When the music came to an end, 
Pembroke rose, glad to get away from Madame 
Volkonsky’s presence. But just then the British 
Minister came up and asked Colonel Berkeley and 
Olivia and the two Pembrokes to remain. Olivia 
accepted, but Pembroke was about to decline. He 
had begun in a deprecatory way, when Olivia said 
smiling, “ You will be sorry if you go.” Something 
in the tone, in the expression of her eye, conveyed 
more than the simple words, and fixed the fact in 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


207 


an instant that he would remain. He accepted, and 
almost before he knew it, he found himself near 
Madame Volkonsky, and the host invited him to 
give her his arm to the dining-room. 

Like most women of her nature, Madame Vol- 
konsky had a blind dependence upon what she 
called fate — which means upon any accidental con- 
junction of circumstances. She had been turning 
over in her mind, eagerly and feverishly, all day 
long the chances of five minutes’ talk with Pem- 
broke. She had not been able to hit upon any- 
thing that would insure it that night, because she 
had no warrant that she should see him — and even 
if he came to the concert, it was a chance whether 
he would remain to the supper. Again, everything 
pointed to one of the diplomatic corps taking her 
into supper — and only the charming indifference 
which the diplomatic corps manifests at Washing- 
ton to diplomatic usages, could pair the wife of the 
Russian Minister with a young member of Con- 
gress. But in truth, the British Minister and all 
his diplomatic colleagues had got wind of what was 
coming, and it was an opportunity of giving Vol- 
konsky a kick which pleased them all. The sup- 
per was quite informal, and the Grand Duke did not 
remain. 

In the first flush of her joy at having a word with 
Pembroke, Madame Volkonsky entirely forgot the 
slight offered her by barring her out of a diplo- 
matic escort. She was seated at a little round 
table where sat Ryleief, and by another strange 


208 


THE BERKELEYS 


turn of fate, Olivia Berkeley. Madame Volkon- 
sky had drawn off her long black gloves and was 
talking to Pembroke with smiling self-possession, 
when she remembered that however Pembroke 
might rank as a man, she was entitled to go out to 
supper with a person of diplomatic rank. The 
British Minister might play tricks, as all of the 
diplomats did, with the Americans, but among 
themselves, etiquette was strictly observed, even at 
small and jolly supper parties. She was so well 
pleased with what destiny had done for her in giv- 
ing her Pembroke as an escort, that she had no 
quarrel with destiny whatever. But with the Brit- 
ish Minister and his wife, she did have a quarrel. 
She felt her anger and indignation rising every 
moment against them. It was the first stab of the 
many she was destined to receive. 

Madame Volkonsky had most of the conversa- 
tion to herself. Pembroke, in spite of every effort, 
felt heavy hearted. Olivia Berkeley^was painfully 
embarrassed, and it required all her savoir faire to 
keep Ryleief from finding it out. As for Ryleief, 
he was so taken up with watching his three com- 
panions that he scarcely opened his mouth except 
to put something in it. 

There was a great pretense of jollity at the little 
table — so much so, that Volkonsky turned from 
a remote corner into which he had been shoveled, 
with a faint hope that Madame Volkonsky had 
accomplished something. He was a hopeful scamp. 

At last the opportunity came that Madame Vol- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 20g 

konsky had longed for. They rose and went back 
to the drawing-rooms. She and Pembroke were in 
front, and by a gesture she stopped him in a recess 
under the broad staircase, that was half concealed 
by great palms. Perhaps Pembroke might have 
had a weak moment — but as Olivia passed him on 
Ryleief’s arm, though she avoided his glance he saw 
her face — he saw a kind of gentle scorn in her deli- 
cate nostril — a shade of contempt that hardened 
his heart toward Madame Volkonsky on the in- 
stant. 

In a moment or two everybody but themselves 
had gone. They were virtually alone. 

“Pembroke,” said Madame Volkonsky. The 
tone, and the piercing look which accompanied it, 
had all the virtue of sincerity. 

“ You know what I would say,” she continued. 
“You have everything in your hands. You may 
drive me away from here — away from respectable 
society — away from all that makes life tolerable. 
What have I done to you that you should deny me 
mercy ? ” 

“ But I can do nothing now,” responded Pem- 
broke. “ It is too late. And besides I have done 
very little. If I may say it, M. Volkonsky has 
done it all himself.” 

“ Yes,” answered Madame Volkonsky. “ It is 
true he has done it all. But surely, you might 
make some plea. At least you might try. Oh, 
you cannot know what it is to feel one’s self sink- 
ing, sinking, and not a hand held out to save.” 


210 


THE BERKELEYS 


Pembroke’s face was quite impassive, but his soul 
was not so impassive. It cost him much to with- 
stand the entreaties of a woman — and a woman 
who fancied she had some claim upon him, although 
in the bottom of his heart, he knew that he had 
got more trouble, pain and annoyance from Elise 
Roller than he had pleasure by a great deal — more 
bad than good — more war than peace. 

“ Madame Volkonsky,” he continued, after a 
pause, “you are putting your appeal on the wrong 
ground. You will find that your husband has been 
mercifully dealt with — and that mercy was for your 
sake alone. Had you married him in ignorance — 
but Elise, you knew him as well five years ago as 
now.” 

Pembroke feared that his tone did not convey his 
unalterable decision, but it did, indeed, to the 
unfortunate woman before him. 

“ There is no pity in the world,” she began — and 
then kept on, gasping with hysterical excitement. 
“No pity at all. I thought that you at least had a 
heart — but you are as cold — I never asked for mercy 
in my life that I was not denied. Even when I 
humiliated myself before Olivia Berkeley.” 

In the midst of her own frenzy of despair, she 
saw something in Pembroke’s face that forced her 
to stop there. She was trembling .violently and 
gasping for breath. Every moment he thought she 
would break into cries and screams. He took her 
firmly by the arm and led her to a side door, and 
out to where the street was blocked with carriages. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


21 1 


Madame Volkonsky submitted without a word. It 
was useless. He was always so prompt. He had no 
hat, nor had Madame Volkonsky any wrap around 
her. He called for the Russian Minister’s carriage, 
and in a moment it came. He placed Madame 
Volkonsky in it, and she obeyed him silently. 
Her head hung down, she wept a little, and was 
the picture of despair. 

“ Now, wait for the Minister,” he said to the 
coachman — and he sent the footman for Madame 
Volkonsky’s wrap. 

Then he went back in the house, and through 
the drawing-rooms until he saw Volkonsky. “You 
had better go at once to your wife. She is wait- 
ing in her carriage,” he said. 

Volkonsky did not take time even to bid his 
host good-night, but slipped out, Pembroke a little 
behind him. When they reached the carriage, 
Madame Volkonsky was inside weeping violently. 
Pembroke had not got her out a moment too 
soon. 

Volkonsky looked at Pembroke for a moment. 
“ Madame has not her wrap,” he said. “ She has a 
mantle of sable that cost — ah, here is the footman 
with it.” Pembroke turned away sick at heart. 

Within a week the Grand Duke’s visit was over, 
and the Russian Legation was suddenly turned 
over to Ryleief. The Minister was ill, and his doc- 
tors ordered him to the south of France. The 
day before Madame Volkonsky left Washington, 
a parcel was delivered into her hands. It was a 


212 


THE BERKELEYS 


rouleau containing a considerable sum of money. 
There was nothing to indicate where it came from. 

“ It must have cost a good deal of self-denial for 
Pembroke to send me this/’ she said, after counting 
the money. “ He is not a rich man. It will per- 
haps serve me in some dreadful emergency ” — for 
she had learned to expect dreadful emergencies by 
that time. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


213 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

WASHINGTON society did not see much of Pem- 
broke that winter. He worked very hard, and in 
the afternoons he took long, solitary rides. Some- 
times in his rides he would meet Olivia Berkeley, 
generally with her father, and often Miles was with 
them. Then he would join the cavalcade, and ex- 
ert himself to be gay — for it cannot be denied that 
he was not in very good spirits at that time. It is 
one thing to perform an act of rigid justice and 
another to take pleasure in it. Madame Volkon- 
sky’s last words rang in his ears. 

He could not but smile at Olivia. She pierced 
his outward pretense of gayety, and saw that at 
heart he was sad. She fancied she knew why. By 
a mighty effort she brought herself to regard his 
infatuation for Madame Volkonsky with pity. 

“ It is written that Olivia shall always misunder- 
stand me,” he said to himself. 

The Volkonsky matter did not end there. The 
treatment of the Russian representative suddenly 
presented a party phase. The party in power saw 
that capital could be made out of it. Pembroke 
had carried the whole thing through. Pembroke 
was a Southern man. Russia had offered her fleet 
during the civil war, in the event that France and 
England should depart from the strictest neutrality. 


214 


THE BERKELEYS 


It was easy enough to make the Russian Minister, 
who had departed, a martyr. In those unhappy 
days of sectional strife, these things were seized 
upon eagerly by both sides. 

Pembroke heard that an attack was to be made 
upon him on the floor of the House. This gave 
him great, satisfaction. He knew that his course 
was not only justifiable but patriotic in the highest 
degree. The question of Volkonsky’s iniquities in 
the first instance had been thrust upon him by his 
political adversaries in the committee, who thought 
it at best but a diplomatic squabble. The sub-com- 
mitte to which it was referred, had a chairman who 
was taken ill early in the session, and was not able 
to attend any of the committee meetings. His 
other colleague was incurably lazy — so this sup- 
posed trifling matter was wholly in his hands, and 
it had turned out a first-class sensation. 

The visit of the Grand Duke, and the complica- 
tions from Russia’s extreme friendliness toward the 
Government at a critical time, had suddenly made 
the question assume a phase of international impor- 
tance. Without scandal, and without giving offense, 
the State Department, acting on Pembroke’s in- 
formation, had managed to rout Volkonsky, and 
incidentally to give a warning to continental gov- 
ernments regarding the men they should send as dip- 
lomatic representatives to the United States. The 
Secretary of State, a cold, formal, timid, but dignified 
man, was infinitely gratified and relieved at the man- 
ner in which Pembroke had managed Volkonsky. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


215 


The President had laughed with grim humor at the 
account of Volkonsky’s utter rout. Altogether it 
was a chain of successes for Pembroke, and it gave 
him his opportunity to show the debater’s stuff 
there was in him. Therefore, when he was informed 
that on a certain day he would have to answer for 
himself on the floor of the House, he felt in high 
spirits, for the first time in weeks. 

Miles was full of excitement. Colonel Berkeley, 
whose sectionalism was of the robust and aggress- 
ive kind indigenous in Virginia, was in high 
feather. He charged Pembroke repeatedly to wal- 
lop those infernal Yankees so that they would never 
forget it, and recalled all the forensic glories of all 
the Pembrokes to him. Olivia brightened into won- 
derful interest. She said it was the subject that 
interested her. 

The evening before the resolution was to be 
called up, Pembroke walked over to the Berkeleys, 
Olivia and her father sat in the cosy library. The 
Colonel began immediately. 

“ My dear fellow, you ought not to be here this 
minute. Remember you have got to speak for the 
State of Virginia to-morrow. You ought to be 
sharpening your blade and seeing to the joints in 
your armor.” 

“ You should, indeed,” struck in Olivia, with 
great animation. “ You can’t imagine how nervous 
I feel. You see, you are to be the mouth-piece of 
all of us. If you don’t do your best, and show that 
we have some patriotism, as well as the North, I 


21 6 


THE BERKELEYS 


believe there will be a general collapse among all 
the Southern people here.” 

Pembroke could not help laughing. 

“Your anxiety, Colonel, and Miss Berkeley’s 
doesn’t bespeak great confidence in me.” 

Olivia blushed and protested more earnestly. 

“Not so, not so, sir,” cried the Colonel. “We 
have every confidence in you, but my boy, you had 
better take a look at Cicero’s orations against Cati- 
line — and read over to-night Sheridan’s speeches — 
and Hayne against Webster.” 

Pembroke threw himself back in his chair, and 
his laugh was so boyish and hearty, that Olivia was 
startled into joining in it. 

“ This is fearful,” said Olivia, bringing her pretty 
brows together sternly. “ This is unpardonable 
levity. At a time like this, it is dreadful for 
us to stand so in awe of your self-love. Really 
now, we know that you are eloquence and clever- 
ness itself, but it isn’t safe,” she continued, with 
an air of infinite experience, “to trust anything to 
chance.” 

“ Come down to the House to-morrow and encour- 
age me,” replied Pembroke good humoredly, “ and 
keep up Miles’ spirits when I begin to flounder.” 

The evening was very jolly, like those old ones 
in Paris and in Virginia. Pembroke at last rose to 
go, and in parting, the Colonel clapped him on the 
back, while Olivia held his hand and pressed it so 
warmly that Pembroke’s dark face colored with 
pleasure, as she said: 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


217 


“ Now, I know I am offending you — but you 
can’t imagine how frightened I am. You may 
come out all right — but the suspense will be dread- 
ful — ” She was laughing, too, but Pembroke saw 
under her badinage a powerful interest in his suc- 
cess. He went away elated. “ At least she will 
see that I was worthy of more consideration than 
she gave me,” he thought — a common reflection to 
men who have been refused. 

Next day the floor of the House was crowded 
and the galleries packed. Administration and anti- 
administration people were interested. Society 
turned out in force to hear the revelations about 
the late Russian Minister — the private and diplo- 
matic galleries were filled. The Senate was not in 
session, and many Senators were on the floor. 

After the morning hour, and the droning through 
of some unimportant business, the leader of the 
majority rose, and demanded the consideration of 
the resolution of inquiry relating to the recall of 
the Russian Minister from this country. At that a 
hush fell upon the crowd. The leader of the oppo- 
sition rose to reply. He stated briefly that it was 
a matter concerning the Foreign Affairs Committee, 
and a member of one of the sub-committees had 
sole charge of it owing to the illness of the chair- 
man. Another member then rose, and sarcastically 
referring to the fact that the gentleman referred to 
could scarcely be supposed to entertain friendly 
feelings toward the representative of the only for- 
eign government which showed the slightest sym- 


218 


THE BERKELEYS 


pathy toward the Union in the Civil War, demanded 
to know by what right had the Russian Minister’s 
position in Washington been made untenable — and 
that too, at the time of the visit of a member of 
the Czar’s family — and was this the return the 
United States Government made for the Czar’s 
extreme friendliness? Then Pembroke stood up 
in his place, at a considerable distance from the 
Speaker. This gave him a great advantage, for it 
showed the fine resonant quality of his voice, clear 
and quite free from rant and harshness. Olivia 
Berkeley, who watched him from the front row in 
the gallery, saw that he was pale, but perfectly self- 
possessed. As he caught her eye, in rising, he 
smiled at her. 

“ Mr. Speaker.” 

The Speaker fixed his piercing eyes upon him, 
and with a light tap of the gavel, said “ The gentle- 
man from Virginia has the floor.” 

Pembroke used no notes. He began in a clear and 
dignified manner to recite the part taken by him in 
Volkonsky’s case — his suspicions, his demand for 
documents from the State Department, Volkon- 
sky’s compromising letters, of which he read copies 
— the dilemma of the Department, anxious not to 
offend Russia but indignant at the baseness of Vol- 
konsky — the further complication of the Grand 
Duke’s visit, and all which followed. He then read 
his statement of what had occurred at his inter- 
views with Volkonsky, and which he had filed at 
the State Department. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


219 


“ And here let me say,” he remarked, pausing 
from the reading of his minutes of his last conver- 
sation with Volkonsky, “ that in some of my 
language and stipulations I had no authority from 
either the President or Secretary of State — but 
with the impetuosity of all honest men, I felt a 
profound indignation at a man of the late Minis- 
ter’s character, daring to present himself as an 
accredited agent to this Government. In many of 
these instances, as for example, when I stipulated 
that the late Minister should not presume to shake 
hands with the President at his parting interview, 
or address him in any way, no doubt the late 
Minister supposed that I was instructed to make 
that stipulation. Sir, I was not. It was an out- 
burst of feeling. I felt so clearly that no man of 
Volkonsky’s character should be permitted to 
touch the hand of the President of the United 
States, that I said so — and said so in such a way 
that the late Minister supposed I had the Presi- 
dent’s authority for it.” 

At this, there was an outburst of applause. The 
Speaker made no move to check it. Pembroke 
bowed slightly, and resumed in his calm and pierc- 
ing voice. 

Members of the House and Senate had settled 
themselves to hear a speech. In five minutes the 
old stagers had found out that there was the mak- 
ing of a great parliamentary speaker in this stal- 
wart dark young man. Members leaned back and 
touched each other. Pens refrained from scratching. 


220 


THE BERKELEYS 


The pages, finding nothing to do, crept toward the 
Speaker’s desk and sat down on the carpeted steps. 
One little black-eyed fellow fixed his gaze on 
Pembroke’s face, and at the next point he made, 
the page, without waiting for his elders, suddenly 
clapped furiously. A roar of laughter and applause 
followed. Pembroke smiled, and did not break 
silence again until the Speaker gave him a slight 
inclination of the head. In that pause he had 
glanced at Olivia in the gallery. Her face was 
crimson with pride and pleasure. 

Outside in the corridors, the word had gone 
round that there was something worth listening to 
going on inside. The aisles became packed. A 
slight disturbance behind him showed Pembroke 
that a contingent of women was being admitted to 
the floor — and before him, in the reporters’ gallery, 
where men were usually moving to and fro, every 
man was at his post, and there was no passing in 
and out. 

Pembroke began to feel a sense of triumph. His 
easy, but forcible delivery was not far from elo- 
quence. He felt the pulse of his audience, as it 
were. At first, when he began, it was entirely cold 
and critical, while his blood leaped like fire through 
his veins, and it took all his will-power to maintain 
his appearance of coolness. But as his listeners 
warmed up, he cooled off. The more subtly he 
wrought them up, the more was he master of him- 
self. His nerve did not once desert him. 

Gradually he began to lead up to where he hoped 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


221 


to make his point — that, although of the party in 
opposition, he felt as deeply, and resented as in- 
stantly, any infringement of the dignity of the Gov- 
ernment as any citizen of the republic — and that 
such was the feeling in his party. His own people 
saw his lead and applauded tremendously. Just 
then the Speaker’s gavel fell. Loud cries of “ Go 
on ! Go on ! Give him half an hour more ! Give 
him an hour ! ” rang out. Pembroke had ceased in 
the middle of a sentence, and had sat down. 

“ Is there objection to the gentleman from 
Virginia continuing?” asked the Speaker, in an 
animated voice. “ The Chair hears none. The 
gentleman will proceed.” 

The applause now turned into cheers and shouts. 
One very deaf old gentleman moved forward to 
Pembroke and, deliberately motioning a younger 
man out of his seat, quietly took possession of it, to 
the amusement of the House. The little page, 
who was evidently a pet of the old gentleman, 
stole up to him and managed to crowd in the same 
chair. Shouts of laughter followed this, followed 
by renewed applause for Pembroke, in which his 
opponents good-naturedly joined. Then Pembroke 
felt that the time had come. He had the House 
with him. 

He spoke for an hour. He merely took the 
Volkonsky incident for a text. He spoke of the 
regard for the common weal exhibited by his party, 
and he vigorously denounced his opponents for 
their attempt to make party capital out of that 
i5 


222 


THE BERKELEYS 


which was near and dear to all Americans. He 
spoke with temper and judgment, but his party 
realized that they had gained a powerful aid in 
their fight with the majority. At the last he art- 
fully indulged in one burst of eloquence — in which 
he seemed carried away by his theme, but in which, 
like a genuine orator, he played upon his audience, 
and while they imagined that he had forgotten 
himself he was watching them. Truly they had 
forgotten everything but the ringing words of the 
speaker. He had touched the chord of true 
Americanism which sweeps away all parties, all 
prejudices. Then, amidst prolonged and vocifer- 
ous cheering, he sat down. Senators and Represent- 
atives closed around him, congratulating him and 
shaking hands. The House was in no mood for 
anything after that, and a motion to adjourn was 
carried, nobody knew how. When at last, to es- 
cape being made to appear as if he remained to be 
congratulated, Pembroke was going toward the 
cloak room the Speaker passed near him and ad- 
vanced and offered his hand. “ Ah,” he cried, in his 
pleasant, jovial way, “ right well have you acquitted 
yourself this day. You’ll find much better com- 
pany on our side of the House, however, my young 
friend.” 

“ Thank you,” said Pembroke, smiling and bow- 
ing to the great man. “ It’s not bad on my own 
side.” 

The Speaker laughed and passed on. 

Pembroke slipped out. It was a pleasant spring 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


223 


afternoon. The world took on for him a glorious 
hue just then, as it does to every man who finds 
his place in life, and that place an honorable one. 
But one thing was wanting — a tender heart to 
sympathize with him at that moment. Instead of 
turning toward his lodgings, he walked away into 
the country — away where he could see the blue 
line of the Virginia hills. It gave him a kind of 
malicious satisfaction, and was yet pain to him, 
that Olivia would be expecting him, and that she 
should be disappointed. As the hero of the hour 
she would naturally want to greet him. 

“ Well,” he thought, as he struck out more vig- 
orously still, “ let us see if my lady will not peak 
and pine a little at being forgotten.” And yet her 
hurt gave him hurt, too. Love and perversity are 
natural allies. 

It was quite dark when he returned to his lodg- 
ings. Miles was not there — gone to dinner with 
the Berkeleys. 

About ten o’clock Miles turned up, the proudest 
younger brother in all America. He had all that 
he had heard to tell his brother. But presently he 
asked : 

“ Why didn’t you come to the Berkeleys’ ? The 
Colonel kept the carriage waiting at the Capitol 
for you. Olivia listened at dinner for your step, 
and jumped up once, thinking you had come.” 

“ I needed a walk in the country,” answered 
Pembroke, sententiously. 

Miles sighed. A look came into his poor face 


224 


THE BERKELEYS 


that Pembroke had seen there before — a look that 
made the elder brother’s strong heart ache. Any 
disappointment to Olivia was a stab to this unfor- 
tunate young soul. Men, as nature made them, 
are not magnanimous in love. Only some fright- 
ful misfortune like this poor boy’s can make them 
so. 

Presently Miles continued, hesitatingly : 

“ You must go to see her very early to-morrow. 
You know they return to Virginia early in the 
week.” 

“ I can’t go,” answered Pembroke, wounding 
himself, and the brother that he loved better than 
himself, in order to wound Olivia. “ I must go to 
New York early to-morrow morning, on business. 
I was notified ten days ago.” 

Miles said no more. 

Early the next morning Pembroke was off, leav- 
ing a note for Olivia, which that young lady showed 
her father, and then, running up to her own room, 
tore into bits — and then she burst into tears. And 
yet it was a most kind, cordial, friendly note. When 
Pembroke returned, the Berkeleys had left town for 
the season. 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


225 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The quaint old house, and the straggling, half- 
kept grounds at Isleham were never lovelier than 
that spring. Sometimes the extreme quiet and 
repose had weighed upon Olivia’s spirits as it would 
upon any other young and vigorous nature. But 
now she had a good deal of a certain sort of ex- 
citement. She was country-bred, and naturally 
turned to the country for any home feeling she 
might have. The Colonel and Petrarch were a 
little bored at first. Both missed the social life at 
Washington. Pete had been a success in his own 
circle. His ruffled shirt-front, copied from his 
master’s, had won infinite respect among his own 
color. As for the natty white footmen and coach- 
men, their opinion and treatment, even their jeers, 
he regarded with lofty indifference, and classed 
them as among the poorest of poor white trash. 

His religion, too, had struck terror to those of the 
Washington darkies to whom he had had a chance 
to expound it. His liberal promises of eternal 
damnation, “ an’ sizzlin’ an’ fryin’ in perdition, wid 
de devil bastin’ ’em wid de own gravy,” had not 
lost force even through much repetition. “ Ole 
marse,” Petrarch informed Olivia, “ he cuss ’bout 
dem dam towns, an’ say he aint had nuttin’ fittin’ 
ter eat sence he lef’ Verginny. Ole marse, he jis’ 


226 


THE BERKELEYS 


maraudin’ an’ cussin’ ’cause he aint got nuttin’ ter 
do. I lay he gwi’ back naix’ year. Ef he does, I 
got some preachments ter make ter dem wuffless 
niggers d’yar, totin’ de sins ’roun’ like twuz’ gol* 
an’ silver.” 

It seemed as if Olivia were destined to suffer a 
good deal of secret mortification on Pembroke’s ac- 
count. That last neglect of his had cut her to the 
soul. She had waked up to the fact, however, that 
Pembroke had taken his first rebuff in good ear- 
nest, and that nothing was left for her but that hoi 
low pretense of friendship which men and women 
who have been, or have desired to be, more to 
each other, must affect. It was rather a painful 
and uncomfortable feeling to take around with her, 
when listening to Mrs. Peyton’s vigorous talk, or the 
Rev. Mr. Cole’s harmless sermons, and still more 
harmless conversation. But it was there, and it 
was unconquerable, and she must simply adjust 
the burden that she might bear it. 

The county was full of talk about Pembroke’s 
speech. The older people were sure that some in- 
formation of his father’s great speeches in their 
court-house about 1849 must have reached Wash- 
ington, and that Pembroke’s future was predicated 
upon them. Then there was a good deal in the 
newspapers about it. The Richmond papers 
printed the speech in full, together with a genealog- 
ical sketch of his family since the first Pembroke 
came over, with a grant of land from Charles the 
Second in his pocket. Likewise, Pembroke’s sue- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


227 


cess was attributed almost wholly to his ancestry, 
and he himself was considered to have had a merely 
nominal share in it. 

It was the long session of Congress, and there 
was no talk of Pembroke’s returning to the county. 
Whenever he did come, though, it was determined 
to give him a public dinner. 

One afternoon in May, about the same time of 
year that Pembroke and Olivia had had their 
pointed conversation in the garden, Olivia was 
trimming her rose-bushes. She was a famous gar- 
dener, and a part of every morning and afternoon 
she might have been found looking after her shrubs 
and flowers. Sometimes, with a small garden hoe, 
she might have been seen hoeing vigorously, much 
to Petrarch’s disgust, who remonstrated vainly. 

“ Miss ’Livy, yo’ mar never did no sech a thing. 
When she want hoein’ done, she sen’ fur Susan’s 
Torm, an’ Simon Peter an’ Unc’ Silas’ Jake. She 
didn’t never demean herself wid no hoe in her 
hank” 

“ But I haven’t got Susan’s Tom, nor Simon 
Peter nor Uncle Silas’ Jake. And besides, I am 
doing it because I like it.” 

“ Fur Gord A’mighty’s sake, Miss ’Livy, doan’ 
lemme hear dat none o’ de Berkeleys likes fur ter 
wuk. De Berkeleys alius wuz de gentlefolks o’ de 
county. Didn’t none on ’em like ter wuk. Ketch ole 
marse wukkin ! Gord warn’t conjurin’ ’bout de fust 
families when He say, ‘ By de sweat o’ de brow dey 
shall scuffle fer de vittals.’ He mos’ p’intedly warn’t 


228 


THE BERKELEYS 


studyin’ 'bout de Berkeleys, ’kase dey got dat high 
an’ mighty sperrit dey lay down an’ starve ’fo’ dey 
disqualify deyselfs by wukkin’.” 

But Olivia stuck bravely to her plebeian amuse- 
ment. On this particular afternoon she was not 
hoeing. She was merely snipping off straggling 
wisps from the great rose-trees — old-fashioned 
“ maiden’s blush,” and damasks. She was thinking, 
as, indeed, she generally did when she found her- 
self employed in that way, of Pembroke and that 
unlucky afternoon six years ago. 

Before she knew it Pembroke was advancing up 
the garden walk. In a moment they were shaking 
hands with a great assumption of friendliness. 
Olivia could not but wonder if he remembered the 
similarity between that and just such another 
spring afternoon in the same place. Pembroke 
looked remarkably well and seemed in high spirits. 

“ The Colonel was out riding — and I did not 
need Pete’s directions to know that you were very 
likely pottering among your flowers at this time.” 

“ Pottering is such a senile kind of a word — you 
make me feel I am in my dotage. Doddering is 
the next step to pottering. And this, I remember, 
is the first chance I have had to congratulate you 
in person on your speech. Papa gives your father 
and your grandfather the whole credit. I asked 
him, however, when he wrote you to give my con- 
gratulations.” 

“ Which he did. It was a very cold and clammy 
way of felicitating a friend.” 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


229 


Olivia said nothing, but she could not restrain an 
almost imperceptible lifting of the brows. 

“ The result of that speech has been,” continued 
Pembroke, after a little pause, “ that I am in public 
life to stay as long as I can. That means that I 
shall never be a rich man. Honest men, in these 
times, don’t get rich on politics.” 

A brilliant blush came into Olivia’s face at that. 
In the midst of suggestive circumstances Pembroke 
seemed determined to add suggestive remarks. 

“ But I hardly think you could take that into 
consideration,” she answered, after a moment. “ A 
man’s destiny is generally fixed by his talents. 
You will probably not make a great fortune, but you 
may make a great reputation — and to my way of 
thinking the great reputation is the more to be 
coveted.” 

“ Did you always think so ? ” 

“ Always.” 

Then there came an awkward pause. Olivia was 
angry with him for asking the first question, but 
Pembroke seemed determined to pursue it. 

“ Even when I asked you to marry me on this 
very spot, six years ago ? Then I understood 
that you could not marry a poor man.” 

“ Then,” said Olivia, calmly, and facing him, 
“ you very much misunderstood me. I did think, 
as I think now, that poverty is a weight about the 
neck of a public man. But I can say truthfully, 
that it was your ability to cope with it, rather than 
mine, that I feared.” 


230 


THE BERKELEYS 


“ And it seems to me,” said Pembroke, calmly, 
“ on looking back, that I was a little too aggressive 
— that I put rather a forced construction on what 
you said — and that I was very angry.” 

“ I was angry, too — and it has angered me every 
time I have thought of it in these six years, that I 
was made to appear mercenary, when I am far from 
it — that a mere want of tact and judgment should 
have marked me in your esteem — or anybody 
else’s, for that matter — as a perfectly cold and cal- 
culating woman.” 

She was certainly very angry now. 

“ But if I was wrong,” said Pembroke, in a low, 
clear voice — for he used the resources of his delight- 
ful voice on poor Olivia as he had done on many 
men and some women before — “ I have paid the 
price. The humiliation and the pangs of six years 
ago were much — and then, the feeling that, after all, 
there was but one woman in the world for me — 
ah, Olivia, sometimes I think you do not know how 
deep is the hold you took upon me. You would 
have seen in all these years, that however I might 
try, I could not forget you.” 

Olivia was not implacable. 

****** 

When they came in the house, the Colonel was 
come, and in a gale of good humor. He had, how- 
ever, great fault to find with Pembroke’s course. 
He was too conciliatory — too willing to forget the 
blood shed upon the battlefields of Virginia — and 
then and there they entered upon a political discus- 


AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. 


231 


sion which made the old-fashioned mirrors on the 
drawing-room wall ring again. The Colonel brought 
down his fist and raved. “By Jove, sir, this is in- 
tolerable. My black boy, Petrarch (Petrarch con- 
tinued to be the Colonel’s boy), knows more about 
the subject than you do ; and he’s the biggest fool 
I ever saw. I’ll be hanged, sir, if your statements 
are worth refuting.” Pembroke withstood the 
sortie gallantly, and at intervals charged the enemy 
in splendid style, reducing the Colonel to oaths and 
splutterings and despair. 

Olivia sat in a low chair by the round mahogany 
table, on which the old-fashioned lamp burned softly, 
casting mellow lights and shades upon her graceful 
figure. Occasionally a faint smile played about her 
eyes — whereat Pembroke seemed to gain inspira 
tion, and attacked the Colonel’s theories with 
renewed vigor. 

Upon the Colonel’s invitation he remained all 
n ight — the common mode of social intercourse in 
Virginia. Next morning, the Colonel was ripe for 
argument. Pembroke, however, to his immense 
disgust, refused to enter the lists and spent the 
morning dawdling with Olivia in the garden. 
About noon, the Colonel, in a rage sent Petrarch 
after the renegades. Three times did he return 
without them. The fourth time Petrarch s patience 
was exhausted. 

“ Marse French, fur de Lord s sake come ter ole 
marse. He done got de sugar in de glasses, an’ de 
ice cracked up, an’ he fyarly stan’nin’ on he hade. 


232 


THE BERKELEYS. 


He got out all dem ole yaller Richmun Exameters , 
printed fo’ de wah, an' he say he gwi’ bust yo’ 
argifyins’ all ter pieces. He mighty obstroporous, 
an’ you better come along.” 

To this pathetic appeal Pembroke at last re- 
sponded. Olivia, with downcast face, walked by 
his side. The Colonel was very much worked up 
and “ mighty discontemptuous,” as Petrarch ex- 
pressed it. 

“ This is the third time, sir — ” he began to roar. 

“Never mind, Colonel,” replied Pembroke, 
laughing. “ We will have a plenty of time to quar- 
rel. Olivia has promised to marry me in the sum- 
mer.” 

“ By Gad, sir — ” 

“ Have a cigar. Now, where did we leave off last 
night? Oh, the Virginia Resolutions of 1798.” 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



\N THE PLANT A TION. 
By Joel Chandler Harris, au- 
thor of “Uncle Remus.” With 
23 Illustrations by E. W. Kem- 
ble, and Portrait of the Author. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The most personal and in some re- 
spects the most important work which 
Mr. Harris has published since “Uncle 
Remus.” Many will read between the 
lines and see the autobiography of the 
author. In addition to the stirring inci- 
dents which appear in the story, the au- 
thor presents a graphic picture of certain 
phases of Southern life which have not 
appeared in his books before. There are also new examples of the folk-lore 
of the negroes, which became classic when presented to the public in the 
pages of “ Uncle Remus.’ ' 


BRER RABBIT PREACHES. 


“The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the author so famous and 
popular as an interpreter of plantation character.” — Rochester Lmon and Advertiser. 

“Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories— with whom we would be 
accounted — will delight in Joe Maxwell and his exploits.” — London Saturday Review. 

“ Altogether a most charming book.’ — Chicago Times. 

“ Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the civil war within the 
Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the catastrophe. While Mr. Harris, in his 
preface, professes to have lost the power to distinguish between what is true and what 
is imaginative in his episodical narrative, the reader readily finds the clew. Two or 
three new animal fables are introduced with effect ; but the history of the plantation, the 
printing-office, the black runaways, and white deserters, of whom the impending break- 
up made the community tolerant, the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious purpose 
of the book, and holds the reader’s interest from beginning to end. Like ‘Daddy Jake,’ 
this is a good anti slavery tract in disguise, and does credit to Mr. Harris’s humanity. 
There are amusing illustrations by E. W. Kemble.” — New York Evening Post. 

“A charming little book, tastefully gotten up. . . . Its simplicity, humor, and indi- 
viduality would be very welcome to any one who was weary of the pretentiousness and 
the dull obviousness of the average three-vclume novel.” — London Chronicle. 

“ The mirage of war vanishes and reappears like an ominous shadow on the horizon, 
but the stay-at-home whites of the Southern Confederacy were likewise threatened by 
fears of a servile insurrection. This dark dread exerts its influence on a narration which 
is otherwise cheery with boyhood’s fortunate freedom from anxiety, and sublime disre- 
gard for what the morrow may bring forth. The simple chronicle of old times ‘on the 
plantation ’ concludes all too soon ; the fire burns low and the tale is ended just as the 
reader becomes acclimated to the mid-Georgian village, and feels thoroughly at home 
with Joe and Mink. The ‘Owl and the Birds,’ ‘Old Zip Coon,’ the ‘Big Injun and 
the Buzzard,' are joyous echoes of the plantation-lore that first delighted 11s in ‘ Uncle 
Remus.’ Kemble’s illustrations, evidently studied from life, are interspersed in these 
pages of a book of consummate charm.” — Philadelphia Ledger. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


T^ROM DUSK TO DAWN. By Katharine P. 

A- Woods, author of “ Metzerott, Shoemaker." i2mo. Cloth, 

$1.25. 

This book is an original one, like its predecessor, in that it follows none 
of the beaten paths of fiction, and it raises questions of vital interest, and 
addresses itself to the reader’s thought instead of merely tickling his fancy. 
The influence of one human being over another is a subject of curious analy- 
sis, as well as the relation of the individual to the community, a subject, with 
its varied amplifications, which is of the first moment to-day. There is a 
story, a romance, which will interest novel-readers, but the book will hold 
the attention of those for whom the average novel has little charm. 



OD’S FOOL. A Koopstad Story. By 

Maartens, author of “ Joost Avelingh.” i2mo. 


Maarten 
Cloth, $1.25. 


In the opinion of competent critics this new novel by Maarten Maartens 
represents the finest development thus far of the author’s powers, and its 
appearance in book form promises to cause what is termed in popular par- 
lance the “literary sensation” of the season. At least, there can be no 
question regarding the high appreciation of Maarten Maartens's work by 
American and English readers. 

“ Maarten Maartens is a capital story-teller.” — Pall Mall Gazette. 

“ Maarten Maartens is a man who, in addition to mere talent, has in him a vein of 
genuine genius.” — London Academy. 


F'APT'N DA VY 'S HONE YMOON. A Manx Yarn. 

By Hall Caine, author of “The Deemster,” “The Scape- 
Goat,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

“A new departure by this author. Unlike his previous works, this little tale is 
almost wholly humorous, with, however, a current of pathos underneath. It is not 
always that an author can succeed equally well in tragedy and in comedy, but it looks 
as though Mr. Hall Caine would be one of the exceptions.” — London Literary World. 

“ Constructed with great ingenuity. The story is full of delight.” — Boston Adver- 
tiser. 

“A rollicking story of Manx life, well told. . . . Mr. Caine has really written no 
book superior in character-drawing and dramatic force to this little comedy.” — Boston 
Beacon. 


F 


OOTSTEFS OF 

author of “ Eline Vere. 


FATE. By Louis Couperus, 

” Translated from the Dutch by Clara 


Bell. With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. Holland Fic- 
tion Series. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


“It is a very remarkable book, and can not fail to make a profound impression by 
its strength and originality. ... Its interest is intense, and the tragedy with which it 
closes is depicted with remarkable grace and passion.” — Boston Saturday Evening 
Gazette. 

. “ 1 he dramatic development up to a tragical climax is in the manner of a true art- 

ist. ’ ’ — Philadelphia Bulletin. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ One of the novels of the decade.”— Rochester Union and Advertiser. 

“ It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the title should have 
fallen into such competent hands.” — Pittsburgh Chronicle-1 elegraph. 

“The author of ‘The Hoosier Schoolmaster’ has enhanced his reputation by this 
beautiful and touching study of the character of a girl to love whom proved a liberal 
education to both of her admirers.” — London Athenceum. 

“ ‘The Faith Doctor’ is worth reading for its style, its wit, and its humor, and not 
less, we may add, for its pathos.” — London Spectator. 

“ Much skill is shown by the author in making these ‘fads’ the basis of a novel of 
great interest. . . . One who tries to keep in the current of good novel-reading must 
certainly find time to read ‘The Faith Doctor.’ ” — Buffalo Commercial . 



N UTTER FAILURE. By Miriam Coles Har- 
ris, author of “ Rutledge.” i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 


“ A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness and with the 
skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest is strong and at times very dra- 
matic. . . . Those who were attracted by ‘ Rutledge ’ will give hearty welcome to this 
story, and find it fully as enjoyable as that once immensely popular novel.” — Boston 
Saturday Evening Gazette. 

“ In this new story the author has done some of the best work that she has ever 
given to the public, and it will easily class among the most meritorious and most 
original novels of the year.” — Boston Home Journal. 

“ The author of ‘ Rutledge ’ does not often send out a new volume, but when she 
does it is always a literary event. . . . Her previous books were sketchy and slight 
when compared with the finished and trained power evidenced in ‘An Utter Failure.’” 
— New Haven Palladiutn. 



PURITAN PAGAN. By Julien Gordon, au- 
thor of “A Diplomat’s Diary,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


“Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes. . . . The lines in her 
story are boldly and vigorously etched.” — New York Times. 

“The author’s recent books have made for her a secure place in current literature, 
where she can stand fast. . . . Her latest production, ‘ A Puritan Pagan,’ is an eminent- 
ly clever story, in the best sense of the word clever.” — Philadelphia Telegraph. 

“ It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating the manner and 
the sentiment of the best society of both America and Europe.” — Chicago Times. 



LINE VERE. By Louis Couperus. Translated 

from the Dutch by J. T. Grein. With an Introduction by 
Edmund Gosse. Holland Fiction Series. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


“ Most careful in its details of description, most picturesque in its coloring.” — Boston 
Post. 

“ A vivacious and skillful performance, giving an evidently faithful picture of society, 
and evincing the art of a true story-teller.” — Philadelphia Telegraph. 

“The dtnoument is tragical, thrilling, and picturesque.” — New York World. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



TRAIGHT ON. A story of a boy’s school-life in 

France. By the author of “The Story of Colette.” With 
86 Illustrations by Edouard Zier. 320 pages. 8vo. Cloth, 


$1.50. 


“ It is long since we have encountered a story for children which we can recom- 
mend more cordially. It is good all through and in every respect .” — Charleston 

News and Courier. 

“ A healthful tale of a French school-boy who suffers the usual school-boy persecu- 
tion, and emerges from his troubles a hero. The illustrations are bright and well 
drawn, and the translation is excellently done .” — Boston Commercial Bulletin. 

“ A real story-book of the sort which is difficult to lay down, having once begun it. 
It is fully illustrated and handsomely bound .” — Buffalo Courier. 

“ The story is one of exceptional merit, and its delightful interest never flags.” — 
Chicago Herald. 


ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF “COLETTE.” 

''HE STORY OF COLETTE, a new, large-paper 

edition. With 36 Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The great popularity which this book has attained in its smaller form has 
led the publishers to issue an illustrated edition, with thirty-six original 
drawings by Jean Claude, both vignette and full-page. 

“This is a capital translation of a charming novel. It is bright, witty, fresh, and 
humorous. ‘ The Story of Colette' is a fine example of what a French novel can be, 
and all should be .” — Charleston News and Courier. 

“ Colette is French and the story is French, and both are exceedingly pretty. The 
story is as pure and refreshingas the innocent yet sighing gayety of Colette’s life.” — 

Providence Journal. 

“ A charming little story, molded on the simplest lines, thoroughly pure, and ad- 
mirably constructed. It is told with a wonderful lightness and raciness. It is full of 
little skillful touches, such as French literary art at its best knows so well how to pro- 
duce. It is characterized by a knowledge of human nature and a mastery of style and 
method which indicate that it is the work rather of a master than of a novice. . . . Who- 
ever the author of * Colette ’ may be, there can be no question that it is one of the pret- 
tiest, most artistic, and in every way charming stories that French fiction has been 
honored with for a long time .”— New York Tribune. 



ERMINE'S TRIUMPHS. A Story for Girls and 

Boys. By Madame Colomb. With 100 Illustrations. 8vo. 


Cloth. 


The popularity of this charming story of French home life, which has 
passed through many editions in Paris, has been earned by the sustained in- 
terest of the narrative, the sympathetic presentation of character, and the 
wholesomeness of the lessons which are suggested. One of the most de- 
lightful books for girls published in recent years. It is bound uniformly 
with “ Straight On.” 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


HANDY VOLUMES OF FICTION. 


Each, 16mo, half cloth, with specially designed cover, 50 cents. 


MR. FORTNER’S MARITAL CLAIMS, 

AND OTHER STORIES. By Richard Malcolm Johnston, 
author of “ Dukesborougli Tales,” “ Widow Guthrie,” etc. 

“ Mr. ’Johnston is one of the best living chroniclers of Southern rural life and character.”— 
Charleston News and Courier. 

PEOPLE AT PISGAH. 

By Edwin W. Sanborn. 


A story full of the charm of the unexpected, certain to promote good spirits, and 
pre-eminently adapted to the requirements of summer readers. 

GRAMERCY PARK. A Story of New York. 

By John Seymour Wood. 

“A realistic story of New York life, in which one may read a strong lesson between the 
lines. The story is vividly drawn, full of brilliant sketches of life.” — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

A TALE OF TWENTY-FIVE HOURS. 

By Brander Matthews and George H. Jessop. 

“The manner in which Paul Stuyvesant enters upon his piece of amateur detective work is 
most amusingly related, and the dtnoAment is a clever bit of jugglery at which the reader is 
pretty sure to have a hearty laugh.” — Boston Beacon. 


A LITTLE NORSK ; or, OF Pap’s Flaxen. 

By Hamlin Garland, author of “ Main Traveled Roads,” etc. 

“Recent American fiction can show nothing better than Mr. Garland’s work.” — Chicago 
Times. 


ON THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, and other Stories. 

By Beatrice Whitby, author of “A Matter of Skill,” “The Awak- 
ening of Mary Fenwick,” etc. 

“Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with the graceful ease 
of the practiced raconteur." — Literary Digest. 

ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM. 

By Kate Sanborn. 

“ A laughable picture of the grievous experiences of a young woman who sought to demon- 
strate the idea that a woman can farm. . . . The drakes refused to lay; the vegetables re- 
fused to come up; and the taxes would not go down.” — Minneapolis Tribune. 

FROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT. 

By the Marquis of Lorne. 

“A really good bit of aristocratic literary wor':. . . . The theme chosen by the Marquis 
makes his story attractive to Americans.” — Chicago Tribune. 

TOURMALIN’S TIME CHEQUES. 

By F. Anstey, author of “ Vice Versa,” “ The Giant’s Robe,” etc. 

“Mr. Anstey has done nothing more original or fantastic with more success.” — The Nation. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


Capt’n Davy’s Honeymoon. 

A Manx Yarn. 

By Hall Caine, author of The Deemster,” “ The Scape-Goat,” etc. 12m 
Cloth, $1.00. " r ■ 

“ A new departure by this author. Unlike his previous works, this little tale 
almost wholly humorous, with, however, a current of pathos underneath. It is n< 
always that an author can succeed equally well in tragedy and in comedy, but 
looks as though Mr. Hall Caine would be one of the exceptions.”— Lo?idon Literal 
World. 

“ Constructed with great ingenuity. The story is full of delight.” — Boston Aa 

vertiser. 

“A rollicking story of Manx life, well told. . . . Mr. Caine has really writtei 
no book superior in character-drawing and dramatic force to this little comedy. 
Boston Beacon . 

“It is pleasant to meet the author of 1 The Deemster ’ in a brightly humorou 
little story like this. ... It shows the same observation of Manx character ant 
much of the same artistic skill.” —Philadelphia Times. 


GEORG EBERS’S NEW ROMANCE. 

A Thorny Path. 

(Per Aspera.) 

By Georg Ebers, author of “Uarda,” “An Egyptian Princess,” etc. Twc 
volumes. 161110, Paper, 80 cents ; cloth, $1.50 

‘ 1 Georg Ebers writes stories of ancient time with the conscientiousness of a true 
investigator. His tales are so carefully told that large portions of them might be 
clipped or quoted by editors of guide-books and authors of histories intended to be 
popular.” — New York Herald. 

“One of this eminent author’s most effective works. The characters, Vithou 
exception, are portrayed with masterly skill, and the book is one of the best of th 
season. ’ ’ — Congregationalist. 

“The story is one of ingenious construction, the characters, many of which an 
historical, are well portrayed, and the local coloring is as true as any one could mak* 
it.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

“ Dr. Ebers’s historical novels may be relied on for truth of description and set 
ting. . . . The story of the heroine’s conversion to Christianity is well told, and th* 
whole work is full of stirring scenes and dramatic situations.” — Evangelist. 

“We find all the minute accuracy and archaeological exactness in this tale tha 
mark all of its author’s works.” — Christian Union. 


A full list of Georg Ebers' s Egyptian romances sent to any address 07. 

request. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO.. 1 , 3 , & 5 Bond Street. 



V 









































